


Blood Curse

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Book 3: King's Cage, F/F, F/M, Gen, War Storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 92,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: A fanfiction prediction about the possible events of War StormThe blood divide brought oppression and strife, now it's created a war with Mare Barrow on its front. Alliances begin, falter and change and it remains to be seen whether Silver kings and queens will stay in power or whether their crowns will fall ...





	1. Mare

**Mare POV**

**I look to** the sky. I spit on Corvium’s soil as I stand up, flip back my braid and meet Davidson’s eyes. Not for him to see the Lightning Girl downtrodden because of a boy – a boy who wants to be a king more than anything.

“Sounds excellent”, I say and the slightest smile shows on Davidson’s face. “What do you intend?” I continue, urged on by his smugness. I want to share Davidson’s commitment, yet at the same time I wonder how I can be so detached. This is Cal we’re talking about. Tiberias, who’ll be betrayed again, by me, and by the friends he’s made in the last months. I take Farley’s hand and she squeezes back.

_It hurts._

I shove the thought away. Cal has made a promise to me and he broke it. The Guard means nothing to Tiberias, he’s been clear about that.

The premier shrugs. “You have seen how stretched the alliance already is. You don’t believe what King Volo has claimed either, I assume?”

Farley sets her hand on her hip at the mention of the magnetron king, but she remains silent. Yet her frown intensifies as Davidson explains.

“Each of them wants their own realms, and all of them want the lands the others have. They will start most of the quarrels I intend by themselves, but with the right prodding – “ his words hang in the air as he focuses on me. I swallow but I don’t move while it is Farley who breaks her composure.

“You speak as if the Silvers would ever keep their fights among themselves, but let’s not pretend they will quietly assassinate each other while the Reds can lean back. The Silvers will just – “

“They will let Reds fight against Reds, as always,” I utter. “Maven said as much. The wars are supposed to keep us down and – smaller in numbers.” Farley glances at me in acknowledgement, her jaw tight. She isn’t a person who stays quiet about her opinions and I understand her concerns.

Davidson nods. “Of course, I’m aware of this General, Operative Barrow. I promise you that I – and my agents – will orchestrate the ruse with utmost regards to protect civilians and those in favour of our goals, should they cooperate. I don’t intend to wage another 100-years-war.”

I notice the underlying message in his promise, aimed at me.

_Tiberias will die along with them_

_Cal has only to change sides once more, and I might spare him._

I could read it either way and he knows it. I smile at him – wolfishly, I hope – without conveying which outcome I’d prefer.  _Do I even know myself?_

“We’ll see the Red Dawn”, I proclaim instead. Farley startles at my evasion, and I squeeze her hand.

“I doubt this is the right place to discuss our strategy,” she says and looks around us as if to demonstrate.

“I’d assume the same, General,” Davidson agrees and the two of them begin to chat about the next meeting coming up, including a party. I stop listening, remembering those will likely include Tiberias. I look at the administrative tower of Corvium. He’s there, right now surrounded by those Silvers pushing him onto a throne stained with blood.  _He’s making a mistake_ , I think, and chide myself at the same time because I still make excuses for him. But I can’t erase the last weeks with him from my mind.

Davidson’s soldiers and the most of the Scarlet Guard won’t be surprised to hear of Tiberias’s defection, and they wouldn’t hesitate to finish him off if the chance presented itself. And the Silvers up there would eat the man I love alive, unless he’s been one of them all along.

* * *

 

 **I sit listlessly**  in the room assigned to me, having forced myself to nibble at a simple dinner. I suppose there is an actual feast assembled for the victorious Silvers and their unlikely allies, to celebrate the renewed betrothal of Tiberias VII and Evangeline of the Rift. Ella has come to me before she went there herself, but I wouldn’t participate even if they were able to toast to Maven’s decapitated body.

That doesn’t stop me from pitying myself. Once again.

I regain myself when Farley comes to visit, late in the night. She’s shed her dress uniform or whatever she’s worn and she takes the place next to me on the bed.

“I thought you would be sleeping by now,” says she, brushing my shoulder.

“You didn’t, or you wouldn’t have come,” I reply, sharper than she deserves.

She sighs. “I can’t blame you, this room has to be much more pleasurable and enjoyable than what I’ve seen down below.”

Another lie that I sense. The rebel in Farley hungers for an opportunity to parade among the Silvers like an equal and the spy in her must have feasted on the intelligence to be found there. But I say neither, because I remember the first meeting all too well, when we came face to face with the haughty Samos “royals”. The brutal king of steel, his queen of beasts and their heir Ptolemus, the man who killed Shade. Farley and I pulled together for the purpose, but Evangeline seemed determined to ignite a powder keg. I focus on her instead of Tiberias. Is she glad to finally receive what the desired, the crown of Norta? I thought she was relieved to be rid of Maven, and in love with someone else, but Evangeline Samos has never been a person I expected to grasp.

Eventually, I break the silence. “I guess we’ll have to stay for while?”

Farley leans back until she lies on the bed. “Depends on the agreements of the ‘alliance’. The garrison of the Guard controlled Corvium well enough, but Samos will demand to take over and to have his piece of the cake, if not all of it. Some of us will have to keep an eye on him, and on the rest of the Silvers.”

“Obviously.”

“And on Calore,” she adds seconds later. “And to act on the plans which Monfort is devising.” She frowns as she stops, probably figuring out Davidson’s intentions on her own.

I’ve taken a deep breath at the mention of _him,_ as I’m not ready to hear from him, not yet. The next day will come soon enough, and so will our eventual reunion. I stifle a yawn as tiredness overcomes me.

“I miss Clara,” Farley says out of a sudden. Somehow, I know she neither says that because she regrets coming to battle instead of staying behind, nor because she can’t bear to be separated from her baby for more than 24 hours.

“I’m not surprised,” I reply playfully, “you’ve had her with you almost every time I’ve seen you.”

Her blue eyes fix on me.

“And she’s so cute and calm,” I continue and chuckle. Farley sighs, realizing she can’t make me talk about the person I’m missing. Instead she falls in line with my prattling.

“Cute she may be, but don’t assume a baby isn’t hard work. She behaves quite differently in private, just like her fa – “

“Excuse me, what?” I pry.

“Nothing,” she says. She is actually blushing and I roll my eyes.

“Of course, Farley. Like I didn’t know my brother”

“I guess there’re some things you don’t want to know,” she muses.

 _Try me_ , I want to say, but I let the challenge pass. It would tip the delicate balance we created and raise sad memories instead. “But you do get along with Mom. When you aren’t arguing.”

“As you do with her, too, Mare. All the time.”

“We get along better, really! And you know …” I pause, watching Farley’s growing interest. “When she’s a little older, Clara will quarrel with you about everything.”

She grabs a pillow and seems to be considering throwing it at me for a moment. Then she  _giggles_  and rises from the bed. “Given who else Clara is related to,” she says, “I shouldn’t be surprised.” She gets serious after a moment. “Will you be able to sleep, Mare?” She rests her hand on my shoulder.

“Yes,” I utter. “I’m okay. And I’m tired.” I yawn again. “Good night, Farley. And thank you.” She nods and leaves my room.

The darkness still bothers me when I finally lie down and close my eyes. I’m not ashamed to give in to tears until I fall asleep. But before sleep claims me, I remember that Cal resides in this building as well, so close. And so far away.

 


	2. Cassandra

**_A/N:_ ** _The narrator is my original character and there is an awful lot of words explaining her family situation, sorry if that gets confusing._

**Cassandra POV**

**The queen glides** into the throne room, moving with a quick pace that leaves her retinue of three so far behind her that you can barely call them such. They are an unusual retinue to begin with, as they aren’t high-born ladies-in-waiting in ostentatious, gem-studded gowns, but two secretaries, a man and a woman, and the Lady Ambassador of the Lakelands.

I turn my head away from them to watch the queen reaching the dais and taking her seat on the throne. As she sits down, the whole court present – 120 people – rise from their kneeling positions. I stand in second line, behind Larissa of House Welle, my future sister-in-law, and I’m flanked by two other sentinels. Thirty of us were in the throne room and while there is no evidence to expect another assault on the Whitefire, due to the dire situation of Norta’s king caused by the Scarlet Guard and the separatists from the Rift, a demonstration of security seems appropriate.

The queen betrays no discomfort by sitting on the throne made of Silent Stone, just like the king didn’t. Before he went to Corvium to deal with the Red occupying force, the queen took the consort’s throne, as had the witch queen before her death. But Iris Cygnet isn’t going to leave leadership in the hands of the fickle, instable boy king. She is our regent and she emitts the dignity of three-hunded years of absolutism exerted by her royal forebears. She’s more regal than any Calore king I’ve ever encountered.

My boyfriend Sorata reported to my mother and me on the queen’s reception by the commoners – and the Reds as well. Admiration is too strong a word, but Iris is liked well enough as the princess who has ended the war. The Scarlet Guard’s didn’t choose the best timing when they crashed the wedding of peace. As if the Reds aren’t already instigated against them and needed further reason to mistrust the rebels. You can’t have everything. Red Nortan soldiers will fight the Guard, just as Maven intends, to my chagrin.

With a wave of the queen’s hand, her retinue take their places alongside her on the dais, still standing. Iris observes her nobles while the master of ceremonies, Richard Provos, summarizes the schedule for this audience. Of course it’s hilarious. I doubt anything of this is news to the queen while her courtiers must have heard rumours before.

Corvium wasn’t reconquered and a quarter of the Silver Nortan forces were killed in action by the united forces of the rebel army made of Newbloods and the traitorous Samos allies. The Lakelander king, our new queen’s own father, was murdered by an Iral separatist while King Maven got away with his life and if the queen is relieved or unnerved by this is impossible to tell. While her gown is, indeed, coloured in the dark shades of mourning, she’s dressed in no way ceremonial, apart from the delicate crown of silver, sapphires and rubies circling her brow. She wears leather, as she does often, and her skirt is divided to reveal her crossed legs clad in leather pants and flat, knee-high boots.

At least the foreigner queen has a more tasteful sense for fashion than the Nortan courtiers in their gem-studded tents. I know it’s superficial to judge people by their clothing, but I can’t let go of my impression. I wish I could see who these people surrounding me are beneath their house colours.

As if my own relations are any better at revealing their true motives. While my family’s first and foremost loyalty is devoted to our own, we chose the path of taking no side apart from obedience to the throne. If that includes working for the usurper Maven and the foreigner queen in front of me, so be it. It’s not easy for us. My mother Charlotte is a Haven, a family supporting King Volo of the Rift, yet she plays her own dangerous game here, expecting to remain standing whoever wins in the end. With Maven as the victor, she expects to be named  _the_  Lady of House Haven as the only one remaining loyal, yet at the same time, she acts as a contact person to her house, with each faction believing her to be their double agent.

The victorious and vindictive monarch – whoever they will be – isn’t going to behead the whole of the court if all they have done has been following royal orders, Mother claims, especially if said courtier is someone as effective as her, the boss of the secret service.

I’m not sure that the same applies to me. I, Cassandra Griffey, the bastard telky, have chosen a hazardous position myself by becoming Maven’s executioner and assassin who kills and arrests his Silver adversaries.

Vengeance might await me at every turn and the king knows that. While he appreciates my prowess, he assumes that no one will miss the commoner sentinel if she is caught in a crossfire. And if my closer family does decide to avenge me, it isn’t like I’d gain anything by that. I would just be another scion of House Haven – in all but name and ability, I have to admit – waiting to see if we are truly claimed by Lisa Corvin, our disembodied ancestress, or if my family’s faith in the aethereal realm of ghosts is misplaced.

The situation doesn’t become any easier as my half-brothers are Eagries through their father’s side, a House remaining staunchly loyal to King Maven, while their grandmother is a coat-turning Iral. We are like the textbook example of the family torn apart by a civil war. Right now, there are more Eagries in the Whitefire than I’ve ever seen before, apart from my brother Roman and his aunt Aude, a general who fought at the Corvium siege and who has to be frothing with frustration about the second defeat.

The queen is the opposite. She’s as calm as the lakes of her home country, but I don’t doubt she can be as relentless as the sea. I’ve seen her fighting when the Scarlet Guard crashed her wedding and for the first time, I’ve been in awe of another Silver. She can probably drown me in my own tears if she feels like it.

Dignity is the only expression she shows and the slight moves of her fingers on the armrests remind me less of nervousness and more of Mother’s own twitching to control shadows. I wonder, does Queen Iris try to control water despite the Silent Stone on her chair, or is it just her way to cope with the heaviness and nausea emanating from the throne?

I understand well enough either way. The power of kings isolates you, it is the same for all rulers. They have to choose the throne and nothing else. Be it Maven, the old king or the young woman from the former enemy country. She isn’t allowed to show grief or insecurities. Love and friendship are luxuries no monarch can rely on.

“The traitor Samos in the Rift has declared for Tiberias VII, the murderous prince who collaborates with the Red terrorists,” the master of ceremonies declares eventually and tears me from my contemplations. Courageous – or very stupid – to say this in front of the congregation of the High Houses. Who knows who else might defect because of this news?

The queen’s stormy eyes darken and stop Provos from continuing, like saying which houses back the claim of the traitor prince. Though any noble with sense would have left Archeon already if they intended to turn their coats. For whatever reason, the people gathered here chose to support Maven – until he would lose, of course. Opportunism and repression rule the world and all of them would be begging the victor to be allowed to pledge another oath of allegiance.

Larissa Welle turns her head to give me a questioning gaze. I can only shrug, cursing my damned helmet for the umpteenth time. We’re friends, Larissa and I, as she is betrothed to my brother Hagen. Apparently, she isn’t bothered by his blindness. Maybe he’s lucky that he doesn’t have to see her hilarious dresses with a whole meadow of tulle and satin flowers sewed on her huge skirts. Even if I wasn’t limited to my sentinel uniforms, I wouldn’t wear anything like that, but in a way, it fits her, the affable greenwarden. Indeed, the real cornflowers braided into her dark brown hair are quite beautiful and in a colour as intense as blue fire. And she dresses Hagen impeccably as well. As much as it angers me, making him at least look like a proper noble is a necessity for him to serve in the Whitefire.

The Provos master of ceremonies regains his topic and starts to report on the fragile alliance between the Scarlet Guard, the Rift, Piedmont and the Republic of Monfort, which are still dangerous grounds. Many courtiers gasp as they imagine a nation governed by Reds, actually a bunch of Newbloods, to make it even worse.

I don’t believe that  _any_  of this is news to the queen. She has to have set up this audience to inform her court of their enemies, to make us realize how much we need our tense unity and her rule and her Lakelands backing. But this play makes her look more like a young girl than a schemer. Maybe that’s exactly what she wants.

Iris stops the report with a raised hand. She looks almost amused beneath her serious bearing.

“My good subjects,” Iris begins, “we shall not forget that we are Norta. We have the technology, the resources and the power which the Rift may only claim in parts. The Samos kingdom will not last for long while we stand together! Four traitorous High Houses and volatile Reds cannot break what the House Calore has built up in centuries, a nation rightfully proud of its progresses and strength.

"One long war had ended, and here I stand as the herald of the unity Norta and the Lakelands have finally found. What has divided us shall now be our greatest advantage – our differences and rivalries have made us reach our greatest selves and this is the time to demonstrate what we can accomplish together. The king and I will not stand to see this era of peace sullied by a secession caused by some obstinate, presumptuous and greedy House lords who think they can rule their own states by nothing but rebellion. They are defectors who forgot the importance of loyalty, traitors who threw in their lots with wretched terrorists. They are insurgents need to be reined in again and to meet punishment for their crimes.

"I trust you to defeat them. I trust you to win, for Norta, for peace, and for yourselves.

"And I’ll fight with you. I will slay Norta’s enemy as relentless as the sea. For power and strength!”

I blink when the queen uses the words I have attributed to her just moments before. They have to be an obvious simile, I think, as the throne room drowns in cries of power and strength and thunderous applause. I squeeze Larissa’s hand as she moves to leave with the other nobles, dismissed by the queen once she’s delivered her rousing speech. I almost admire how easily she’s brushed over the fact that Maven’s forces were defeated. I start to follow along with the rest of the security personnel not on duty for guarding the queen as Iris raises her voice once more.

“The sentinels and security officers shall stay.”

My feet stop immediately, accustomed to obey a royal order. I line up with the rest in front of the queen and take the chance to look directly at the group on the dais. The queen has regained her seat on the throne, sitting straight and comfortably, seemingly still unperturbed by its compound. Her attendants’ faces are blank, as if focusing on the soldiers in front of them, but the Lady Ambassador grins wickedly.

 _Never trust a diplomat_ , was one of my mother’s lessons, and yet it is strange for the lady to show her derision so openly. The queen should rein her in as well, if she wants to maintain her pageant of the peace harbinger. But this is not the time as Iris wants to speak to her Nortan guards for now.

“I’m inclined to trust you with the protection of my life,” she begins, her regal bearing changing from pleading figurehead to haughtiness in an instant. “But I would rather not see another infiltration of the Whitefire and in my opinion, these disguises you wear are like an invitation we shouldn’t continue to use. Remove them.”

I can’t hide the smirk on my face as I take off the damned helmet. The queen rises and leaves the dais to walk down the line of her bodyguards, going on prattling about her expectations. She stops in front of me.

Up close, I see that Iris is athletic and muscular like me, but 10 cm taller. “My Queen?” I ask, maintaining my composure.

She chuckles. “You’ve heard that, Isabella?” she exclaims to the ambassador. “She calls me ‘my Queen’, as if she is truly loyal to me.”

For a born-and-bred princess who knows about the importance of flashing her image, she is quite open about her mistrust. She sidles closer to me and her hand almost touches my chin – or my throat. There is honest curiosity in her eyes, a feeling I’ve noticed from her before, even on the first time we’ve met years ago.

The corners of her mouth twitch and she moves back a step. “We’ve seen each other before, Sentinel Griffey. You have visited me in Detraeon once.”

I supress the urge to blink and nod. “Yes, my Queen.”  _Visited me_  isn’t exactly right as I didn’t come for the Second Princess Iris five years ago. I assume the two different colours of my eyes – black and grey – make me so memorable, as I didn’t have my tattoos back then. The queen inclines her head, waves the ambassador to her and goes on. I remain the only one she’s talked to. As Iris walks, drops of water gather around her, swirling in alternating patterns. As she turns to go back to the dais, she hesitates. She faces us instead and the waters change shape to surround us like fetters. I hold my breath at the queen’s subtle control of her element.

Iris barks out four names and the swirls point to the corresponding persons. I am among them.

“I promote you to my personal bodyguards,” the queen announces.

_Ah shit._

“Allyson and Henryk,” - her secretaries, apparently - “will coordinate your new tasks and schedules. I expect nothing but excellence from you.” Her smile reveals pretty, small teeth. “I’ve heard only the best about you, and I remember your efforts from my wedding and before.”

I’m not sure if my performance of the royal wedding is a recommendation. Whatever Queen Iris has seen of me, she couldn’t have noticed what I’ve really been doing, dodging attacks and bullets aimed at the infiltrators. Guiding my fellow sentinels away from areas where they’ve been needed. Opening the rooms in which the recruited Newblood soldiers were locked in.

I’m a very good sleeper agent for the Scarlet Guard.

The queen beckons her chosen four, two men and a woman I all know well enough. The queen’s smile sends a shiver down my spine. This is a formidable woman I’ll have to outwit, even though I’m flattered by her recognition. But that can’t have a matter in my coming tasks. I’m the daughter, sister and lover of spies and I’m becoming one as well. The young queen of peace has selected a traitor to protect her.

 

 


	3. Mare

**Mare POV**

**I smile at** myself in the mirror. A part of me resents to go back to pretending but moping and sulking aren’t an option. Not when I’m having to face Tiberias this morning. My smile doesn’t do much to hide the exhaustion, even though a skinhealer has taken care of my injuries and tiredness after the battle. I’m not a radiant beauty and I never will be, but I have other ways to be striking. 

I spin Cal’s earing between my fingers as I move to the door. Its presence is stinging. 

I don’t want to have it with me, and I don’t want to throw it away - because Tiberias wouldn’t even notice. I thought about giving it away as a present, but to whom? And what would they think about it?

I put it back into a pocket and enter the corridor. I haven’t reached the stairs when reflected sunlight makes me squint my eyes and a familiar  _clink_  rings in my ears. It’s Evangeline Samos, stopping me in my tracks. Her metal dress gleams in the morning light as voltage prickles in my fists. I meet her eyes, unwilling to back off. Her clothing is noticeably intricate today, with many layers and chains falling over her midriffs and shoulders. Must have taken a long time to create.

“Are you back at threatening me,  _your highness_?” I ask, dripping sarcasm at her new title.

It takes her long to answer, so I almost cease expecting a vocal one. Our interaction consists of glares and a sudden wave of power emanating from Evangeline. Her dress ripples and changes shapes, until the power reaches me. I walk back half a step when I feel how the metals on my clothing – zippers, rivets, studs as well as my earrings – start to vibrate. For once I’m glad I don’t carry weapons with me, as Farley does. They would work against me among the magnetrons.

Yet I don’t cower before the newly exalted princess in front of me. I close in again and before I throw so much as a single spark, it’s over. Evangeline breaks eye contact and mumbles, “no need for this anymore, we’ve already lost.”

Then she passes me, not without taking a look over her shoulder, her face lacking her usual self-confidence completely. A strange expression for a woman who’s finally gotten what she wanted. Unless she prefers love over a crown after all.

I wonder if she noticed the earring in my pocket.

Her metal clothing drags on the floor and I ask myself how heavy it must be to carry the element of her power on her all the time, unable to draw it from within herself, as I can. What is a magnetron without their metal? It’s a tempting thought to imagine one of the mightiest Silver Houses at loss, powerless and driven into a corner.

Too bad they won’t ever let that happen.

* * *

**It’s not** **an** auspicious start in the day. But I’m long past these anyway. I join Farley in the hallway in front of the conference room. “Are we in again for a dramatic late entry?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Give the Silvers a chance to discuss among themselves.” She raises her eyebrows and I suspect Davidson has his own agents eavesdropping on the Silvers. He arrives a few minutes later with his generals, knocks on the door and enters without preamble. Farley hesitates for a moment before following him with the Scarlet Guard commanders beside her, the man and the woman who governed Corvium in the meantime. She looks at me, mouthing something, then turns around.

_You’re coming with us?_

I follow her yet I realize what she asks. Do I really want to do this, to meet Tiberias, the king to be? And do I want to take part in ruling and leadership? I said no to Tiberias about exactly that, because I can’t be  _his queen_ , yet here I am again, with Silver kings and Red Generals, without a pause. Once, Cal told me I ran away from leadership, and I did – I still do. It’s not what I aspire, what I wish for, but I can’t let go or stop fighting. Not when my hopes are at stakes and my presence might be a tip in the balance of keeping Cal – Tiberias – in favour of the Reds.

The room falls silence upon our entry. I see Anabel Lerolan, Volo Samos and his children; representatives of the Houses Laris, Iral and Haven; and Tiberias. He sits next to his smirking grandmother, with Evangeline on his other side. The seat between them is empty, like an invitation for me. Even more so when his eyes find me and he brightens at my sight. He smiles like he expected to never see me again. I don’t return the relief. If the corners of my mouth twitch, it must be a grim expression, and he stops beaming. His face freezes into the same stern demeanour his fellow Silvers exhibit at the table.

Davidson takes the seat next to Tiberias. The other Reds sit down opposite the rest of them.

* * *

**The politicians greet**  each other although their dislike for one another sizzles in the air. I guess this is always the same. Mockingly polite, Ptolemus volunteers to fill in the Red faction about their previous decisions, demonstrating what a dutiful son he is. His report seems honest enough though I see how Farley has to fight to keep herself from glaring at him. I have to withstand the same urge while my face remains stony without much effort; I had six months of Maven’s company to train this.

It also holds despite Tiberias’s several yearning glances at me. After fifteen minutes of prattling, even I notice that we’ve reached a stalemate. The Silvers are their own kind of rebels and they’re loath to bow to anyone else, despite their alliances. Davidson brings himself into the conversation, dissembles, and the other Guard members fall in line, if only to claim their interest in maintaining their rule of Corvium.

Eventually, Anabel Lerolan cuts in. "Maybe we should give up Corvium.” The proposition is met by stares. I wonder if she only wants to get Reds out of their positions, away from power.

To my surprise, Farley shows a levelled reaction. “It’s not like the Lakelander-Nortan-war will be limited to the choke now. After the main reason for the fighting here is gone.” Her tone is almost sarcastic. She knows about the aspect of population control in the 100-years-war, and how the union of Iris and Maven has shifted their ways of control, with fighting the Scarlet Guard instead of each other.

“I assume with their king killed by the Nortan – separatists,” Farley drags on the words, “the Lakelands will no longer hesitate to attack Norta on other borders, like on the south-eastern frontier.”

Which would be the Rift, the newly founded kingdom of the Samos family. King Volo shows no reaction to her baiting. “Shall they,” he answers, “they won’t have much success with attacking us.” Despite his neutral demeanour, his tone is arrogant. “Though I expect you, dear Anabel, to enable our new trade routes. Your domain is rich in crops and livestock, and we don’t want the usurper to further benefit from both our products.”

The old queen sips her water, inclining her head to a slight nod. “Certainly” she agrees. Tiberias says nothing.

Ptolemus goes on explaining in his father’s place, listing gains he wishes to receive from the alliance. It sounds like he’s studied this part. Evangeline interrupts him.

“How long are we pretending to gloss over the fact that we partied instead of sending more assassins after Maven, to settle this once and for all?”

Tiberias clenches his fists, but I seem to be the only one to notice his unease. He still doesn’t want Maven to die. Though Evangeline’s outburst puts the rest of the council in disarray too. Her father boils at her insolence, but she remains determined, apart from a hand shivering for a short moment. In a way, I agree with her. Maybe I should have done exactly that, hunt Maven instead of enduring this company.

The representatives of the Silver Houses each voice their opinions about the next operations, ranging between proposing their own propaganda tour with Tiberias and Evangeline in undecided Nortan regions, conquering the land piece by piece and outright assassinating Iris and Maven, once they provided fitting candidates. Even Davidson falls in, demanding that King Tiberias openly declares his support of the Scarlet Guard and Red-Silver equality, earning him some pointed glances.

Only Evangeline leans back, her expression almost smug as she drinks her water.

“Tiberias,” Anabel calls out, “what do you decide?”

He blinks at his grandmother.

“It is the king’s duty and privilege to command,” she adds and I’m uncertain if she intends to encourage or to chastise him with that statement. His eyes fly across the room, when everyone is focused on him.

“I think,” he begins, “this task is too important to act rashly now.” He makes the words up as he goes, seeking reassurance from his audience. “Our priority is the restructuring of our joined forces.”

It’s a tactical move, not a strategical one, as usual for him. He isn’t Maven, despite their similar thirst for a throne and I’m not going to mistake them again.

“Maven will have to do the same, so we’ll have the time. In the meantime,” he stops himself and lowers his gaze as the assembly hold their breaths. All except me.

“What is it, Tiberias?” I say. “Do you need another moment outside to make a decision?”

The Silvers glare at me, but my eyes fix on Tiberias. He stares back, almost helplessly. Farley touches my hand, as if she wants to hold me back. Yet, with a small movement of my eyes, I see Davidson smile. I turn to Tiberias again, constraining him with a stare until I’ll have forced an answer out of him.

“The rehabilitation of the Scarlet Guard,” he concedes finally. “It’s Maven’s pet project to give them an ill repute and we have to counteract him there.”

It should be a success but I hardly feel it, and my face must reflect this numbness. Tiberias’s sombre expression tells me as much.

Yet, how easily I’ve influenced him, maybe I’ve been wrong to be disappointed by him. Unless he’s going to fall for anyone else’s goads as quickly. Even though Larentia Viper isn’t present in the room, I feel surrounded by something worse than her snakes.

* * *

**But the queen** of beasts enters ten minutes later. The falcon on her shoulder screams as if to announce her and she has her usual snake on her other side. She says nothing and walks to her husband, to whisper in his ear. Volo Samos isn’t perturbed by the animals but by her message. There’s the smallest crack in the unreadable armour of his face. It vanishes as he speaks, turned into vindication.

“Apparently,” he starts, “my daughter has been right.” Shocks spreads on Evangeline’s face at this concession. “The usurper Maven sends his regards, mocking us, who have vanquished him, who have the true king of Norta on our side. Tiberias lowers his head and I wonder if he’s biting his lip. His knuckles are white from clenching, his bracelets sparkling. I feel frozen yet I long to hear the rest of Larentia’s report.

* * *

**Only the central**  message stays in my mind. Maven has sent some of his remaining Newbloods into the Corvium tunnels, burning, shattering and wrecking whatever they could find, until these ten persons died because of the own mess they created, leaving behind their charred bodies and those of 30 guards stationed there. Maven’s message is clear enough.

_I can get anywhere and I’m willing to sacrifice as much as it takes to win._

* * *

 

 ** _A/N:_**   _I had to make some guesses on the political and geographical issues, so I’m not sure if the Lerolan Delphie region has a lush agriculture but I thought it would make sense._

_If the Silvers, especially the women, don’t appear in a good light, it’s because Mare is biased against them. Just as she mocks Ptolemus because has to work hard to keep up to his father’s expectations. He isn’t a born and scheming king either, IMO._

 


	4. Cassandra

**_A/N:_ ** _Careful, this one starts a little smutty . There’s again some character development for my OCs which might not be that interesting._

**Cassandra POV**

**He squints at** the morning sun shining right into his eyes. It makes him laugh, as does my hair falling down to tickle his brown chest. I confess, I help there a bit by moving the curly tresses with telekinesis, to make the morning after Sorata’s birthday even more enjoyable.

Not that morning sex alone isn’t enough, but I have the habit to cherish every moment we can steal away for just the two of us. I giggle along with him, sitting on top of him as he caresses my sides. Despite not being tired, I lay my head over his heart to touch as much of his skin as possible. I move my hair again, creating decorative patterns. I know Sorata can’t withstand to play with the mud-coloured waves if arranged like that. He sighs as he does it, with his other hand brushing my hips.

“You don’t find my body lacking … shape at all, do you?” he mutters suddenly. “Compared to the other boyfriends you had, the sentinels with the chiselled chests?”

I look up to see a pink blush in his cheeks. Fascinating how much his face gives away in private moments. My lips form into a smile. It took him long enough to ask, as we’ve been together again for seven months.

“Baby, I don’t mind at all,” I answer. “Nothing wrong with working at a desk instead of lifting weights.” I take it as a cue to kiss his collarbones. I add, “you don’t mind me having turned my soft spots into muscles either.”

He laughs again. “Oh, not all, Cassie. Some you have left. But no, I don’t mind.”

“Good,” I say, and heave myself from the bed. I walk to the table to drink some water, then turn myself around so both the sunlight and Sorata’s gaze catches me in my naked glory. He gets even redder by the sight, as I’ve intended.

I put the bottle away. “ _Will you still love when I’m no longer young and beautiful?”_ I sing along in a sudden mood. “ _Will you still love when I got nothing but my aching soul?_ ” I’m jesting, but Sorata takes it seriously.

“I asked you to marry me, and you said yes, so …” he reminds me.

“Indeed,” I reply.

My promotion to the queen’s bodyguard is good for this at least: It shifted my schedule to allow such romantic bantering in the mornings, apart from the nights I have to watch beside her door. But the thought of Queen Iris sobers me, so my mind wanders to politics. Spying, subterfuge, sabotage. As a Silver, I’m not trusted by the Scarlet Guard to receive information or an actual task. The reason for them to use me is the leverage they hold over me _. Leverage_ , pah, what a wry way to talk about a person you love. I shake my head. “Sorata, will you …” I start, then losing my words.

“What is it?”

“Are going to work for the Guard with me? And tell them about your ability?”

His face falls, his amusement vanishing. He doesn’t meet my eyes but he answers eventually. “Cassanda, … I’ve just never - I’ve always ...” he sighs, frustrated. “I mean, all I’ve ever done was to secure my existence. To stay safe and to survive.”

I don’t let go this time, don’t let him evade again. Even if he can’t answer on the spot, he has to face this. “That’s what your mother wants, what about yourself? Are you a coward?”

“Cassie!”  There is an expected offense in his cry, but more as well. Recognition. I follow that line.

“You’re a Newblood who managed to stay hidden, do you know how lucky you are – “

“Yes. I know.” He buries his face in his hands. “Are you telling me it’s my duty to rebel? Are you the one who knows what’s right and wrong? What does a Silver know about that!” The sentence is a hiss and I flinch at its sharpness landing true.

_I shouldn’t have said this._

But Sorata goes on. “Don’t pretend Cassie, that you don’t do all of this for  _her_.”

I meet his eyes with a frozen stare. It’s salt to both our wounds, to talk about Lacey, the hostage of the Scarlet Guard. My cousin who surrendered at the siege of Corvium, offering the Guard all that she has to give, including information about me and Sorata, the useful Newblood in the secret service. “I’m aware,” I whisper, and silence ensues. It seems like a test.

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” I say, “I won’t demand this of you again, I merely hope that you’ll find your side by yourself.”

He nods gravely, then waving his hand as if to dismiss me. It’s his servant training I suppose, to back down and forgive easily. It’s a trait which isn’t naturally his. I nod as well, uttering some other words of excuse before I leave for the bathroom, and for work soon after.

* * *

**The queen goes**  swimming every morning and her standard are 3 km. I doubt it’s even a challenge for her, the master nymph, but even half the distance, if done every day, is almost enough to keep  _me_  in training. Though I don’t join her every morning. I do today, just to find a vent for my frustration. Sorata is right and it incites me further. I should never have talked to him like that.

I keep my face straight in front of the queen when she arrives with her night guards at the pool which was built solely for her once she was betrothed for King Maven. It couldn’t be that Her Highness, Princess Iris of the Lakelands, shares a spa with subject nymphs or anyone else who swims for sport.

Well, she does invite people here now, to offer special chances to meet her in private, or just so she can compete with her sparring partners. Such as me. I was deemed fit for the role the first time Iris saw me undressed and tattooed like her. She laughed like a little girl and for a moment, I thought she was – no one special, just a young girl happy to find a bird of her feather.

“How alike we are, Captain,” she said, using the new rank she dubbed me with, and adding, “what do your tattoos mean?”

Quite straight, but I didn’t expect anything else from a royal and I dissembled. “Symbols of my power and prowess, my Queen,” I replied, “and allusions to family history.” I smile, burying the more personal and tragic meanings deep down as I gave the answer that had to fall in line with Iris’s tattoo, the great wave symbolizing her ability.

“You’ll tell me more one day,” Iris said and jumped into the water, as she does today.

Even though I have no chance to keep up with her speed, I marvel at the sight of her when I dive under as well. Iris rarely needs to break the surface to breathe and thus she swims like a dolphin – or like the nymphs of legend. In the back of my head, I remember the other nymphs I met in Detraeon when I went there five years ago, but none of them was as elegant as the queen. Especially not when Iris decides to show off, with underwater acrobatics or seating herself on chairs or horses made of water.

I wonder how strong she’s tempted to turn that into an actual show for everyone to see, but I doubt she’ll give in to these childish theatrics in public. The queen wants respect and obedience, not fans.

I still wait for Iris to spill some secrets during her quality time sessions in the pool but so far, I’m left to make guesses about her weaknesses. Though there isn’t much to work with. I can relate. Iris is good at presenting an image of power and strength and she’s very creative when it comes to effective use of ability. But there are still meetings scheduled for today.

Iris leaves her hair wet on some days, to have water at her disposal should she need it, but not on this day. I estimate it’s because she’ll have to sit in the throne room where the silent stone will block her ability. As she draws the fluid out of her hair, she toys around once again, shaping the drops into a ball, a crown and in a model of her tattoo, before she returns it into the pool. “Wait,” she commands as I start to move to the lockers. And then the queen honours me by brushing her hands through my scalp, drying my hair in a matter of seconds as well.

I salute her. “Thank you, my Queen.”

She nods. “Time is short, and the schedule is tight.”

* * *

**Whenever Iris enters**  the throne room, her personal quirks are gone and are replaced by perfect dignity and imperiousness. I think I understand that part of her by now. No matter how much she might desire to live as a carefree girl, ruling has always been a part of her. Maybe she gets along with Maven better than I think though I don’t suppose there’s any love lost between them. She listens to the new report on the state of Corvium where Maven had the tunnels pretty much destroyed but with the last of his Newbloods dead. It was a petulant move to begin with and Iris seems to share this opinion with the way her mouth twitches. But she keeps silent.

“The king has decided to return here, Your Majesty,” the messenger says.

“To retreat and recover?” Iris jibes and the messenger and the councillors gasp. She smiles wryly. “I assume he has reasons for that. Though I have met no problems with ruling Archeon alone.” The councillors nod assertively while the messenger continues. The queen’s fingers tap on her armrests. “Seems like this conflict will end once the main players are gone,” she utters eventually. Although I can understand this desire for a simple solution, I know it isn’t that easy. This game has too many players already. Then she looks at me. “What are your experiences with fighting the Samos and Irals, Captain?”

I turn myself into a pillar of marble.  _Not again_.

“I have fought a lot of them, my Queen. In training.” Not a clear answer, but I hesitate to offer myself as an assassin once again.

Iris stares at me harder. “I think you have personal stakes in this war as well, don’t you? Your cousin is a captive of these terrorists since the first battle of Corvium.” Her shrewdness pierces me.  _What does she know what does she know what does she know?_

But it can’t be that she’s aware of me supporting the Scarlet Guard.

I incline my head like a loyal subject. “It is my greatest wish to see her free again, my Queen. I am sure you will find the best approach to exert vengeance on the traitors of the Rift and the Red terrorists.” I realize it’s a lame attempt to evade her suspicion with flattering and her frown confirms this. Yet she moves on to other topics. 

* * *

**Iris is a** strain and always will be and I’m glad for every moment I can escape her charming company. I have lunch on my own and decide to visit my mother, Charlotte Haven, since I noticed her absence at the meeting. I hope it will relax me to see her.

Music thunders from Mother’s office, the loud, dissonant and angry noise she prefers. I try to catch some lyrics to guess her current mood as it’s unusual for her to delve into music during her work hours. The singer’s deep voice ripples in a foreign language of which I only understand a few words, just enough to recognize the record as one of the treasures Mother unearthed several weeks ago, to her great delight.

I sigh. She played the song to me once before and I remember the mournful theme of it to which Mother relates so much.

The room is brighter than it should be, even during a summer noon. I wonder if Mother will claim the brightness as the cause of her tears although I know better. She’s needed another moment to grieve the husband she’s lost more than 25 years ago. She straightens as she notices my presence. I turn off the music telekinetically.

“What do you want, Cassie?” she asks in a husky voice.

_Spite_ , I think. It’ll always be there. Because Mother rather mourns the man who wasn’t my father than staying with the one who is. I shouldn’t resent her for it, but the feeling lingers. It would’ve been easier for me to grow up that way. Yet whatever attraction has been between my parents, it is long gone and I remain as their only tether. If attraction is even the right word because I’m not sure if Mother feels it at all. There are other qualities she cherishes in people.

“The queen has asked about Lacey today,” I say instead. “Mother, can’t we really – I mean, is there no way to get her back?”

Her face darkens to her familiar brooding expression, but the light still illuminates her golden skin and the yellow hair reaching right to her shoulders. She lights a cigarette and inhales. I wait patiently.

“The messages we received state her to be well enough,” she says eventually although she knows as well how little of a comfort that is. At least I’m aware Lacey is willingly with the Scarlet Guard, but that doesn’t mean I feel like trusting the situation. “She’s still a hostage,” I insist.

Mother cocks her head. “Is this about you feeling guilty?”

“Yes.” Mother has to think of another reason, but the truth is Lacey to guarantee my support and good behaviour. It weighs on me, even more when I think about what I would’ve done for the rebellion, for Sorata, if someone had just asked me instead of forcing me into this and leaving me worried. It shows, I know. My jaw shivers.

Mother’s cigarette is half-consumed when she puts it in the ashtray to stand up and hug me.

I realize I’ve come to her only to receive some maternal affection on a shitty day.

“Don’t think I’ve given up on her, Cassie. And don’t forget the queen. You’re in her confidence now, and you’ll profit from her.” Mother’s words shatter any comfort I’ve tried to find. She’s a danger to the rebels, and the queen will use me. But she doesn’t know this. She smiles at me. “It would be wonderful if the queen attended Hagen’s wedding,” she adds and I nod.

“I’ll try.” I reply, dissembling from the other topic. My brother Hagen’s wedding is the event she looks forward to more than everything. 

* * *

**I stand attention**  in the queen’s office and I have no interest in inviting her to the wedding right now. I chafe at following Mother’s request. Despite all our other arguments, I know we’re alike deep down, with anger storming inside of us which only makes us fight more, each in our own ways. I know why she wants this marriage to be a huge event and I disagree with her.

Thus I just watch the queen, standing perfectly straight for once to not catch her interest while I figure out her correspondence. But eventually, Iris stretches her limbs and talks to me.

“What do you know of Prince Tiberias?” asks she. “And of Lady Evangeline?”

She seems strangely nervous, but I give her the obvious answer. “They’re proficient warriors, my Queen. The traitor prince has proved himself as a general, even among the terrorists, to Corvium’s misfortune. The Lady Evangeline – “

“No, I don’t mean that.” She pauses. “I’d like to know,” she starts again with a wave of her hand, “if you think they’ll make a good couple.”

Of course not, but the queen shakes her head even before I say that. “It’s difficult to phrase – or not, if I ask this plainly, Captain Griffey. Do you expect them to have children soon?”

Oh. “They have to get married first,” I say and smirk. “There shall not be a hint of bastardy staining royal offspring.” My sarcasm drips from the words and the queen has the decency to get my self-deprecating joke and smiles.

“I doubt it, my Queen. We have reason to hope the dreadful alliance will shatter before a wedding occurs. Besides, Lady Evangeline has probably other objectives than conceiving a child soon.”

The queen nods gravely, as if she can’t relate. At all.

_Bloody shit._

“I do not know which other objectives a queen should have that keep her from conceiving an heir,” Iris says, confirming my guess and I’m at loss for words.

“Captain?”

“My Queen, so you and the king are …?” I’m making an utter fool of myself and I’m glad there’re only the two of us in the room. I clear my throat and try again. “Norta would rejoice at the news of a royal heir.”

“You think so?” Queen Iris’s dark skin turns to a very pretty shade as she blushes.

“No,” I blurt out, and there it is. My first objection to royalty and I see my future unravelling. None elaborate spying position, expulsion from court, isolation from my family. I’ll have to scout out the Scarlet Guard on my own to maintain my contact to Lacey.

“Why do you say that?” The queen is positively curious but indignant as well, looking for once like the young girl she is.

“I did not mean to, I am sorry, my Queen,” I ramble, wondering if I should kneel for good measure, but she waves me off. “Say it. Be honest, as I’ve asked.”

I sigh, deeper than ever. Why, of all people, does she have to ask a barren woman like me about this? “With all due respect, I fear the current situation is way too dangerous for a royal infant. Your prowess in battle, my Queen, seeks its equal, and I – I would be truly afraid in your place if you considered that other option.” I look in her eyes pleadingly, hoping she’ll forgive me all the offenses I’ve uttered in the last sentences. I kneel after all. “I’m sorry, my Queen, I was only honest.”

Iris appears to be musing, giving me hope I’ll keep my job. “But a child of Maven and me has so many advantages,” she ponders. “We have to think of the future, of House Calore, of Norta, and – our alliance.”

_Screw future, if you’re not in it_ , I think.

Iris looks at me and waves her hand again and make the water in a bottle on her desk swirl as well. “Get up Captain, you’re forgiven. Explain.”

I shrug. “Royal blood can be a curse,” I say. “Forgive me for being blunt, but you might take a moment to think like a mother and not like a queen.” I take a breath. “You should consider the fate of your child should you and the king lose. My Queen.”

She blinks like she hasn’t spent a thought on that possibility at all. Yet she understands. “I’m grateful for your honesty, Captain Griffey. It is an important argument, though my intent stands so far.”

She must have talked the king into it as I haven’t expected him to care about royal babies yet. But I pity Iris. “I’m honoured to be helpful, my Queen.” Her Lakelander family must have convinced her it would be for the best. The Cygnets would have a claim to Norta’s throne through Iris’s child and her opinion would’ve been only secondary if considered at all.

“You are much more than breeding stock, my Queen,” I add for good measure.

She raises her eyebrows. “I know that much, Captain.”

* * *

**In the end,**  I bring up the wedding invitation. The queen states an interest, but not more. I end my shift with a great relief, only to remember the argument I had with Sorata this morning. I don’t know how to approach it again, as I can’t do more than apologize, can I? All I feel is the need to change what we have and if I need the Scarlet Guard for that, so be it. Then I chide myself for acting rebellious only for a boy. I open the door to my room with a sigh, yearning to take off my uniform. But I find Sorata in there, together with Larissa, my brother’s betrothed. I gasp as I see them among piles of festive clothing.

“Cassie!” Lari calls out. “Good you’re here, we still need to find your dress for the wedding.”

I am not in the mood. “Well, …”

“No, you can’t wear grey,” she interrupts me. “And black neither. Flowers are the theme, and I’ve already allowed your mother to wear black. We’re in a hurry and Lacey’s favourite seamstress is no longer available. However, I think that a light pink …”

“Ah,” I say, glancing at Sorata fighting the tulle around him. He smiles to my relief and I make a decision.

“My dress will have to become my companion as well.”

Lari frowns, an expression as sweetly as the rest of her. “You didn’t tell me you have one.”

“Oh, I do, for a long time.” I glance at Sorata as I say it so he will catch my meaning. I wait until he does and nods, still surprised. “It’s Mr. Ives here.” I sit down and take his hand as Lari tries to make sense of this. Sorata rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

“I'm honoured to meet you, my Lady Larissa Welle,” he says to end the awkward moment. As Lari smiles at him, I feel a sliver of hope. There might be a future, even if we have to fight for it piece by piece. 

 


	5. Mare

**Mare POV**

**In the end** , Evangeline gets what she wanted and group of volunteers sets out to hunt for Maven. I’m one of them. But the boy king is astoundingly good at running away. We start with checking the breaches in the wall and the tunnels though there isn’t much to see, with the remains of the dead soldiers moved away. So, we run across the fields around the city, searching for Maven’s traces.

It’s strange to be here, when the memories of the battle in the blizzard still linger in my mind. But the sun is shining now, although not as hot as in Piedmont, and in some places, green grass is growing. Actually, if I turn away from the fortress, the landscape is weirdly peaceful. An unsettling thought, and the other members of the hunting party, most of them Silvers, seem to have almost similar feelings as they frown and move reluctantly. There’re no trails of Maven and his army to be found and probably, they vanished as they came. And why should they stay? It’s easy to forget that the war has ended when its dread loomed over us Reds for generations. Yet it was a ruse all along and the conflict was solved as easily as salt in water.

Maven’s and the Lakelanders’ retreat bring back the option of abandoning Corvium, an idea which was raised in the last meeting. Without the war and the choke’s trenches filled with soldiers, Corvium is just a huge but random stronghold instead of a death gate. It’s a reasonable plan, but it might be yet another trap by Maven to lure us away and to dissemble from his real schemes.

Evangeline, who was the first to volunteer, doesn’t give up so easily. Her dress is changed partly into an armour, partly formed into makeshift weapons and trinkets which she throws on the ground to use as anchors to jump away from. It’s almost like flying and I gaped when I saw it for the first time. Now, two hours later, I only glance at her every now and then, fascinated by the beauty of it and yet noticing her sombre mood. Fighting and using her ability seem like her only release and I can relate to that. While she still denies how fruitless this search is, I want to run to the electricon hill and call my lightning with Ella, Tyton and Rafe. Maybe they’re doing exactly that, only here instead of in Piedmont. So I spin on my heal and dash back to the city.

The huge breach where we fought catches my attention and I see Farley walking there, her hands on the wall. I go to her and she turns to me. She looks around as I approach her. “Hey Mare, are you alone? Good.”

I frown.

“Did you know,” she says, “there’s a Newblood in the Piedmont base who can control and shape rocks?”

I shake my head.

“That’s not surprising. He’s arrived recently with his family. He would’ve been very handy in this fight, of course. But he’s only fourteen and much too young for this.”

“Right,” I agree, and think of Cameron. She wasn’t much older when we recruited – _abducted_ – her, and she needed a long time to arrange herself with the situation. We deserved her reproaches. We shouldn’t repeat this way of “recruitment” ever again. Then I work out why Farley was nervous before. “You don’t want the Silvers to know about this boy?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. The Silvers don’t have that kind of respect for childhoods, do they?”

From the corner of my eyes, I can still see Evangeline’s jumps. 

* * *

 **Corvium changes dramatically**  in the next two weeks and it turns more and more into a garrison, with almost relaxed inhabitants. At least they can feel like that. Enough Reds  - and some Silvers – start to believe in the alliance and it unsettles me how easily they’re convinced. I guess anything is better than waiting for death in the trenches or by Maven’s revenge. I can’t trust the idea that Maven will give up Corvium like this. Maybe it’s easier for the Red soldiers who are less tense and waiting for relocation, as that’s what’s happening. Farley is in charge of them and while she’s recruiting those willing to fight on and to become members of the Scarlet Guard, she often goes to Corvium’s sister city Rocasta where the released Red soldiers are stationed. Those who can’t live like this any longer. They wait to be relocated but that option has to be restricted, as both travelling and safe places are limited. Of course, most of them want to be with their families, but while we can’t force anyone to stay who’s willing to run on their own risks, if they returned to their homes, the shadow of rebel collaboration might fall on them, especially if their home town is loyal to Maven.

To my surprise, the Silvers don’t object, as long as Farley, General Akkadi and the other Red officers report on their numbers and the Silvers deem them high enough, high enough to build their joint army. While most soldiers cling to their own, one division is mixed where the Silvers include some Reds as officers among the Silver ones. It’s supposed to be a revolutionary project, but it isn’t, as Maven did the same thing with his Newbloods. Ironically, the joint army was Tiberias’s idea, as was the shadow legion a year ago. I wonder if that satisfies him, to somehow revive his concept and to train the soldiers himself. He seems to when he talks about them and he even dares to look at me more often during these reports. Those glances are invitations, I think, to come and visit their training, at best to stand beside Tiberias, the rightful king, and witness the cooperation of Reds, Silvers and Newbloods. Only that it happens on Tiberias’s terms, not the Scarlet Guard’s

I’ve carefully avoided to visit and I left the part of Tiberias’s Red partner as commander and trainer to a woman of Farley’s and Davidson’s choice. Her name is Saraline Barnes and spends her spare time often with Farley. They must have known each other for some time and that past connects them. With her, Farley seems almost girlish. I suspect Farley carries a photo of Clara around and has shown it to Saraline who’s happy for her, despite everything else. Saraline, a black woman, is a soldier of the Guard and has been in Corvium for months, almost since I’ve learned of my powers, and she’s as battle-hardened as Farley. As many of us are. I don’t know what she went through, but she has lost neither her assertiveness, nor the ability to smile for a friend, and I’m glad for both of them to have met again.

 **Instead, I end**  up training with the Newbloods. I think Kilorn would be disappointed with us Guards in Corvium. But I try to take his efforts to heart and sometimes go with Farley to meet with the Red soldiers. Fortunately, her commanding presence keeps them from treating me as either some kind of icon or a traitor. Or maybe I’ve finally become Operative Barrow to them, instead of the legendary Lightning Girl.

I reserve my lightning for the Newbloods and their commander, General Akkadi. She’s as authoritative as any of the Silvers. Her Newblood soldiers are loyal to a fault and she secures them places to live and train in as good as can be. I meet her during a bustling training session but unlike to actual battle, it’s possible to talk. She’s curious to learn about Guard members, such as me, as I’m curious about her. Her first name is Selene. She has bronze skin and is in her mid-fourties, although her hair is already grey and fixed in a long braid. She grew up in Montfort and tells me her ability is prophecy and for a second, I flinch, thinking of Jon. But she isn’t like him, she’s more like an Eagrie eye, a seer of the immediate future. She has a far greater reach than them though, and superhuman reflexes to act on her visions.

I understand better what she means when I see her fight other Newbloods. Neither a strongarm, swift nor teleporter are able to lay a hand or foot on her as she dodges all their attacks. Instead she aims at their weak spots with an uncanny precision, often scoring a potentially fatal blow in seconds.

“Close combat isn’t everything,” I say when she leaves the ring.

“True, true,” she admits, unperturbed by my little tease. “But that’s not all I can do.” She smirks. “A battle is different, as being a commander is different. I can see the future of … the whole of the fight and of almost every soldier in my vision as well. So, I might order them to act as if each of them has my gift.

"In theory, at least. It’s hard to communicate and making them understand what I need them to do in the chaos. I’ve learned to deal with the distraction visions can be, but nothing is ideal.” A dry laugh escapes her throat. “If we had a whisper or someone similar, they might transmit what I see to everyone else, like a perfect conduit. If we could trust them, that is,” she adds, noticing my severe frown at the thought of a whisper among us.

_Tiberias wishes for one as well, for very different reasons._

The idea of someone else in my head continues to make me shiver with horrible memories and I need several moments to focus again on the here and now.

Akkadi doesn’t touch me but turns around and squats in front of me. Her dark brown eyes are warm, but something more than compassion sparkles in them.

“There’s a woman in Maven’s army who’s like me,” she tells me. “A Silver, but maybe the most powerful eye there is.”

 _Ambition_ , I realize. The Silver woman wakes Akkadi’s joy about challenge and competition. “General Aude Eagrie,” she explains. “ _She_ haswhispers to aid her. She’s the heir to her house and has been at the choke for ages, a venerable veteran. Yet she’s lost Corvium twice now.”

Akkadi probably desires to meet the Silver general in person and to duel her herself to examine who’s truly the better of them. I don’t know much about this Aude. I heard of some quarrel about the inheritance of the title of House Eagrie, the candidates being an eccentric young man, a lady with royal blood and a lady general who must be Aude. I wonder if her efforts in the fake war can really outbalance her long absences from court. Then I banish the idea. I doubt the family quarrels are severe enough to get them at each other’s throats and if we’re lucky, the High Houses are done with before the question becomes serious. The Eagrie title isn’t my problem, but I realize I’m still trying to memorize, analyse and use all information I can get, as I did during my imprisonment.

I slap my thighs, clench my fists and take a breath. I jump from my seat. “You’re impressing, General,” I say to Akkadi. “But now it’s my time to spar”. I catch Ella’s eyes from the other end of the gym. She nods and I faintly see she’s smiling as I move to the ring. 

* * *

 **The daily pre-lunch**  meetings of Red and Silver officers are another kind of battle. Although words and gestures are the only weapons, these discussions are fiercer than training. They’re pretend, of course. I understand that we sit down every day to talk as if we’re truly allies but we quarrel the whole time. If Davidson’s trying to deceive the Silvers through false promises and information, I’m unaware of his means. It’s like the people at this table deciding over the fate of Corvium are just actors in his play.

I don’t forget my suspicion but it’s no excuse from being unfocused in those meetings. People like the Samos’ or Anabel, who call themselves royals, are too dangerous to be disregarded.

But these table discussions are revealed to be fake and useless once you know about the subterfuge.

I almost pity Tiberias sitting at his place of honour. He’s learned to present a majestic image outside of battle by now, as he’s dressed in a tailored and bejewelled uniform. I’m not immune against his sight, as handsome as ever. But the longer I dare to look at him, the more I feel the sting. He’s the perfect Silver prince again, one of  _them_ , as if he’s never been a rebel. At least Maven is aware of the difference between truth and image whereas Tiberias seems – as if he likes part of it? No, that can’t be, I can see how uncomfortable he is beneath his regal mask. And it’s not like I’ve granted him a chance to be with me at other places than this table.

Tiberias remains silent for most of the time and lets his allies and new advisors talk, in some kind of imitation of Volo Samos. Volo, in turn, still prefers to have his son present his side, as if Ptolemus is some kind of apprentice prince.

“Maven is again on a tour across Norta and is difficult to locate in advance,” Ptolemus explains.

_Maven’s probably inspecting his defenses._

“It’s likely he’s expanded his railway network,” he adds and then pauses. I see the interest on Ptolemus’s face. Despite his and Evangeline’s unrest during our first trip with the train, he’s developed a fancy for the vehicle. He clears his throat. “General … Farley,” he begins, “It’s no secret the Scarlet Guard possesses access over a railway network, too. It would be a great advantage to our alliance if we had the same means …,” he stops mid-sentence as he looks up from his papers and notices that Farley doesn’t even glance in his direction. She’s literally turning away from him, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turn white.

I realize she’s never looked at him when he talked. Ptolemus gapes and searches the table for reassurance for a second. All he gets is the steely expression on his father’s face. He can only continue.

“General Farley, I, in the name of my father, ask you for the locations as well as a map of the Guard’s trains.”

Finally, Farley turns with a swift motion into an adamant demeanour. “No,” she answers with a vicious smile.

Ptolemus blinks. “May I remind you we agreed to cooperate to tumble Maven’s regime? Withholding information -”

“I can’t remember a promise of sharing all of our assets and intelligence,” she interrupts him sharply. Her smile has vanished and is exchanged for an icy glare.

She walks a thin line between displaying the smallest shred of diplomacy and her outright contempt for him. Maybe it’s not the best course of action, but I can’t help feeling a little proud of her.

Ptolemus touches the bridge of his nose. “You’re obstinate. General. After all, we’ve done our best to support and provide for your re – ah, soldiers – “

“You mean we poor Reds should be grateful that you finally grant us enough food and good lodgings?!” I erupt. “Oh, of course, we’re barely able to take care of ourselves, are we?”

Ptolemus’s confusion is quickly replaced by angry indignation. “Indeed, we …, ” he starts to explain himself before his face changes into a sneer. “What are you even doing her, Barrow? This is a congregation of nobles and officers.”

His jibe merely fuels me. I grin until my scars hurt and turn to the future king of Norta. “Tiberias, what do you say to that? And I not allowed to be here?”

The way his expression changes when our eyes meet nowadays has become familiar, and it’s both hurt and satisfaction for the two of us. One after the other, disbelief, rejoice and then disappointment rush over his face. Then he regains his princely appearance and declares, “Mare Barrow deserves to be here and is a welcome member of this committee. She stays, as long as she wishes.” His grandmother frowns at this while Tiberias loses his seriousness for a moment and gives me a tiny smile.

I feel the corners of my mouth twitching as well. I turn away quickly. By now Farley’s aggressive posture has relaxed a little, but she’s still tense. I know she’s proud of her position as a general, but it’s not easy for her. She’s new to the job, and with Townsend dead, she’s the only Command general of the Scarlet Guard present in Corvium. She has to make these important decisions on its behalf in this volatile alliance and I’m not sure how much information she’s been able to glean from the secretive Command so far.

“So, we’ll do nothing about the trains?” Ptolemus asks into the silence, not letting go of his idea.

There’s no answer until a chair scratches on the floor and Davidson stands up. “May you excuse my interruption, your Highness. We should keep this option in mind. Sirs, madams, I fear we’re over the scheduled time already. If there are no other urgent topics,” he smiles excessively friendly, “I think we should return to our tasks at hand.”

Murmurs and relief replace the tension at the table. A few people voice agreement while others can’t wait to get up. I’m one of them. 

* * *

 **I follow Farley**  when we leave the conference room. This time, she storms off. Anger fuels her and while I feel my own upset about Cal, I cling to her. I see Cameron joining us as well. She wasn’t in any of the meetings, but she comes with us nonetheless. She looks worried. Farley stops and turns when she notices her. She snorts.

“Cole,” she barks, “you were more right that I would’ve ever thought.”

Cameron nods gravely but Farley sighs when she looks at me. “Those Silvers will always be a pain in the ass. Why can’t that little Samos bastard be dead already!”

I flinch at the mention of Ptolemus and it doesn’t escape Farley’s keen eyes. “Mare? Don’t you agree?”

I want to nod, to shout, yes, I want to electrocute him by returning to the meeting room immediately. But my memory remains, the promise I made to Evangeline. I shouldn’t care about it, as they haven’t ever cared about me. But I’ve seen the love and despair in Evangeline’s eyes that day and whatever I think of Shade’s killer, the idea of revenge becomes a double-edged sword.

I want to see him dead, sometimes all of them. But where would that end?

Love – loss – and despair are the emotions that show on Farley’s face now as well. I should’ve realized before. She’s raged against Evangeline and her parents before, but they weren’t the cause of her anger. I overlooked how deliberately she avoided Ptolemus’s sight. Because she wants to see him dead and shredded as much as I did.

“I … let’s go to your room.” I spin my head to stress the need for privacy, and Farley seems to agree, reluctantly. Her fierce expression doesn’t lose intensity once we’re in. Cameron still tags along, both worried and curious.

I take a breath but it doesn’t help me face Farley when I say it. “Evangeline freed me in exchange for promising not to kill her brother.”

I glance at her from the corners of my eyes. Disbelief washes over her. “How could you …?” she whispers, barely audible.

I stop eschewing her. “Yeah, I had the same thought. But what choice did I have?!”

Farley winces and inclines her head in understanding. Yet her anger doesn’t vanish. She’s the one to look away now, her hands on her hips.

“Farley,” Cameron calls out finally. Just her voice seems to level the heated mood in the room for a moment. I wish she would go on, but Farley speaks again.

“Then I’ll have to kill him.”

I’m used to her determination and relentlessness, but her thirst for revenge unsettles me. I shouldn’t judge her, I shouldn’t discourage her, but I remember too well how powerless I felt next to the magnetrons during the six months of my imprisonment and a part of me fears for her, despite her prowess in battle.

“Farley,” Cameron says again. “There’s more than murder at stake.” Farley glances at her, then clears her throat and blinks.

Pretty words aren’t much aid with such pain and grief as hers - or mine. It still gnaws on her, and I know nothing to do but say, “Diana. You told me it’s better to live for something.” I don’t dare to be plainer because she deserves better than to be berated about being overeager and rash or uncaring about risking her life and leaving Clara as an orphan. She must know this herself, even if I feel the need to remind her.

She gapes at first, then laughs joylessly. “Right, who says I’d die? Or do anything rash? The Samos brat isn’t worth it.”

To my surprise, Cameron says, “I’d help you.”

To my greater surprise, I add, “I would as well.” Both turn their heads to me as my bad conscience kicks back in. Yet deep down, the urge for vengeance has never left me.

I shake my head. “The goal is to end Silver monarchies. So, I’ll finish Ptolemus Samos well before he ascends another throne.” I almost expect another dirty laugh but Farley remains quiet this time. She merely nods with her arms crossed. Cameron starts to leave and I’m about to follow her, but then Farley closes the distance between us - and hugs each of us. Cameron seems even more startled than I but her expression softens quickly. “I’m your friend,” she says. “And we’ll end it.”

I hear Farley’s heavy breathing while she embraces me and I wonder if she’s fighting tears, and how many times she’s fought them in her life already.

“I wished so often – “ she murmurs. “I thought the greater good is enough, but – how  could I ever explain to Clara that  _he_  lives?”

I stroke her back. “I know.”

The harmonic moment doesn’t last long. We let go and smile at each other. Grimly. Cameron mentions something about repairs to be made and rushes off. She has found something else to do, while her life as a techie has given her knowledge she uses of her own terms now. I want to leave as well, but I’m less sure where to go. I hesitate, fumbling for words, and make some random gestures as I moves to the door.

“Mare, wait,” Farley’s voice cuts through the room and I frown at her sudden change of tone, her amusement gone. I turn to her, but she doesn’t continue. Not yet. I wonder if she still plots against Ptolemus and can’t let go so easily.

“I’m sorry, Mare. I should’ve apologized long ago,” she says instead and I blink in confusion. Farley lowers her head but her eyes are focused on me, as intense as ever.

“I have – I’ve never given you a choice either. I’ve lied to you, and used you, and it’s time to stop acting innocent and righteous about this. We need to be honest.”

I feel myself plummeting into a hole, into dark times I’m not ready to face out of a sudden. I don’t want to think about what she might mean, but the memory of that moment on the Blackrun, when we screamed at each other with Shade’s corpse between us, shoves itself into my consciousness.

Farley comes closer to me. “Mare? I’m sorry to throw you off your guard like this. I mean … I should just say it.” Yet she hesitates and her hand faintly brushes my shoulder. I take several breaths. My vision blurs and clears again and I lift my head to her. I stare back, knowing I should listen to her and be done with it. It’ll never be easy. I can deal with it, then I can still yell at her.

Farley seems to understand my agreement. She nods. “You might’ve figured out that I always knew that Shade wasn’t dead …  back then.” She has to clear her throat at those words. “I used your grief and anger to motivate you to join the Guard.”

She’s right, I’ve figured this out long ago but I had much greater worries during that time. And what is the point now? Shade is still dead and I can’t regret joining the rebellion. I regret many things, but not that. I shake my head. “Yes, that was heartless, Farley. I didn’t need that motivation and Shade should’ve known that, too. Because you did meet him while I was Mareena, didn’t you?”

She blushes at my indication and her stance wavers slightly. “Indeed,” she confirms, “we should’ve realized. But have you never thought it could’ve been different? I could’ve gotten you out of the palace if I’d tried, if you’d asked.”

“Since when do we talk about lost chances? I haven’t asked because I thought I was doing the right thing.” I cackle. “You don’t have to pamper me.”

She sighs but doesn’t relax. She isn’t done yet. “But I’m still a liar. I didn’t notice immediately, but once I did, I felt too coward to bring this up. That you believed me when I requested that money for transporting you and Kilorn. But I was joking. I would’ve helped you anyway. For Shade.”

Again, I need a moment to process her words. I understand all that could’ve been avoided if she’d been more honest and plain. How different everything could’ve been, if Gisa’s hand was never injured? Despite my former dismissal, I feel my anger rise. My life hasn’t been my own for such a long time. Maybe never. I ’ve been a pawn shoved back and forth by players other than me. I think about how Maven was made, no, all of us, myself included. Will it never end?

I bat Farley’s chest so she has to step back. Tears run over my cheeks as I spit at her when I yell, “you’re such an awfully good actress, Diana Farley! Are you hoping to manipulate people so you’ll get what you want?”

She has the decency to lower her head, but that only lasts a moment. She isn’t afraid to face me, she never is. My rage already starts to calm as reason kicks in. I know why she did all that and that she’ll never stop fighting until we’ve won. But that can’t change the way betrayal feels.

“I know what I am and what I’ve done,” Farley admits. “But even when you shout at me and resent me for this, and feel down because of me, we both know that you deserve better than play pretend. You deserve the truth, especially now. And I don’t want to be your friend if I lie to you.” After these words, she turns away.

I move to her bed and sit down. I cover my eyes with my palms to stop the tears but of course it doesn’t work like that. I hear how Farley sits down next to me yet she doesn’t touch me or tries to comfort me in another way. Her presence has to be enough. Eventually, I uncover my eyes and see her open palm, outstretched like it’s an invitation. I take it and squeeze.

“I forgive you,” I say, as haughtily as possible with a tear-stained voice.

Farley squeezes back. “All of us have made mistakes and lost important things … and people. But while you and I and other rebels have fucked things up, not everything is our fault. In the end, it’s the Silvers who are guilty, and those are who we fight. We can’t forget that.” She sighs. “I’m just trying to be better.”

There’s grief in her voice. I realize how much she’s changed since I met her for the first time, how loss and love have shaped her anew. I suppose she wants to be a good leader, mother and friend. But I mourn how much pain she has suffered to grow to become a better person. And I know the same applies to me.

I lean against her. For the second time this day, we just hug and take comfort from each other. It relaxes me, calms me, but after a few minutes, I realize this isn’t enough. There’s still too much frustration boiling inside of me and I long for activity. I let go of her, rise and walk to the door.

“Where are you going?” Farley stands up as well and goes after me. I don’t turn to her.

“Do you intend to follow me all day now?”

She comes closer until I see her crossing her arms from the corner of my eyes. “Do you want to be alone?”

_What do I want?_

To see Maven’s corpse and I know I no longer have to fear him.

To slap Tiberias – Cal, and yell at him for his mistakes, half-heartedness and lack of compassion until he kneels before me in submission.

To have Cal kiss me, hug me, touch me, fuck me, until I’m burning inside and feel only love and passion instead of despair.

Or I just want to go out, grab Ella and have her teach me how to make a storm huge enough so I’ll feel nothing but its voltage and the electric current coursing through me.

Finally, I turn to Farley. “I’m going to train with Ella.”

She cocks her head yet abstains from the obvious reply, wondering if I’m not too keyed up to use my ability. What else should I do? Training, or just running, is the best way to calm me down. Physical exercise is the only thing that makes me sleep at night when I slowly get used to being alone again.

Before I say anything else, Farley gives me an encouraging smile. “I’ve nothing else to do. I’m coming with you.”

* * *

  **The gym is**  buzzing with excitement when we arrive. I make out General Akkadi fighting once more on the sparring grounds.

She has it harder today. Her movements to dodge her opponent’s attacks are slower, as if this duel has lasted for some time. Or the opponent is just stronger and more vicious because - to my astonishment - she’s fighting Evangeline.

I wince. I’ve no idea how she escaped her family and their Silver cronies and got past our soldiers patrolling these quarters. The crowd doesn’t seem to mind and watches in awe. It’s really the end of the duel. Akkadi closes the distance to Evangeline despite the metal shards hurled into the air. Akkadi snatches one of them and holds it against Evangeline’s bare throat while she punches her gut.

Evangeline stumbles despite her armour and Akkadi just turns and says, “I win,” as she leaves the ring. She sees Farley and me, grins, and greets us.

“General Farley, have I told you about my son yet?” I hear her say behind me because I find myself walking to the ring where Evangeline remains standing.

“Do you have the power for another duel in you, Princess?” I say. 

* * *

 

 **_A/N:_ ** _IDK if I can say this at another point, so I explain here. Akkadi has a teenage son who currently lives with her ex-husband. They’re co-parents and the son a Newblood too, a swift, and Akkadi thinks Farley would like to know about stuff like that._

 _And I finally brought Saraline from_ Steel Scars _back into the story._

 


	6. Mare

**Mare POV**

**Spontaneity is quickly** replaced by determination. I enter the ring in a fluid motion enabling me to set forth web lightning the moment I face Evangeline. Caught by surprise, it makes her stumble. Still uncannily elegant, she manages to stay upright, but her defense is weakened enough for me to strike a second time with a flash of sparks which grazes and burns her forehead.

Her reaction is quicker this time, as if out of reflex. Metal scraps fly at me, disorganized enough so I can create an electrical barrier to protect me. I dissolve it fast and the shards fall to the ground.

Evangeline grins at me. “Not really fair, Lightning Girl. I haven’t consented to this duel yet.”

I smirk back. “You’ve always been the fairer fighter of the two of us.” If playing with me instead of outright killing me in the Bowl of Bones could be called thus. “Do you want to bail out now?”

She brushes off the taunt of her valour like a gentle breeze, flipping back her slightly dishevelled braid. “Barrow, I’ve waited ages for a chance to re-match.” To demonstrate her verve, the metal pieces around us move with a flick of her wrist. If she wants to scare me, I disappoint her. I crack my knuckles and give off sparks in reply.

“I’ve improved greatly myself, Samos.” Current flows through my body like the frustration, rage, and nervousness I’ve felt all day and with a tap on the floor, I release another surprise attack from my feet. Fortunately, I don’t wear rubber soles.

Evangeline is prepared better now but the ring is too tight to allow much dodging of such a broad charge. She dances in her corner, evading some but not all electrical branches I’ve unleashed. She almost smiles when she faces me again, eye to eye with a well-aimed pulse lightning. She ducks while spinning but the lightning burns her relentlessly and she falls to her knees. I hear the air, the ground and her armour sizzling from the residues of my electricity. It buzzes in me as well. So far, I did a good job as I barely had to move though I still wish  _to run_. Instead, I smile at Evangeline who’s getting up, not defeated but bruised nonetheless. I keep grinning, walking backwards to keep my eyes on her. “Maybe Elane can lick your wounds?”

Evangeline only raises her chin, looking down her nose at me. “She does, and frequently. Jealous?”

Her tongue can be as sharp as her blades. My mistake. I used her messy love life as a taunt, forgetting I haven’t drawn a better lot.

_All because of him._

I grind my teeth to banish the thought of Tiberias and clench my fists which are crackling with voltage like ball lightning.

We circle each other. Evangeline scans the ring, her throat bobbing. My mouth twitches. I didn’t emit such a broad web lighting only to attack her, but to shove away her metals as well. Certainly, she’s able to pull it back but she’s  _too fair_  for that. Out of the ring, out of the game. But I know I can’t rely on her fairness.

Despite my agitation, I’m the one baiting her now and she responds accordingly. Several times, she feints an attack yet draws back again while her armour ripples and changes shape continuously. It’s supposed to be a menace but I don’t intend to get closer to her anyway. Instead, she uses her armour to create new weapons, sharp and spiky things she hurls at me.

I dodge the most of them and she accelerates her frequency of charging at me until I’m surrounded and have to use lightning to block her blades. It’s not easy. Although I gained new skills with the other electricons, I still fight mostly with brutal strength whereas Evangeline controls metal with a dangerous precision which she probably has learned from making dresses and crowns as a hobby. I try to find a pattern, like when she formed splints into creatures, but she’s subtler today, moving each piece on its own orbit. I increase my speed of both my body and my ability. Tipsing around, I feel the sweat on my skin. I have to risk an attack and I release strong web lighting in her direction and promptly, tiny knives enter through the hole in my defense and cut my arm. But my opponent doesn’t fare better. My aim is perfect and enough of a surprise to strike true. Evangeline protect herself with her arms up and her armour changes into a shield floating in front of her.

I realize. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I unleash another charge and again, Evangeline uses a shield in defense. It’s confirmation enough but I need a plan first: With the conductive the metal around her, her armour is useless against an electricon; I could electrocute her anyway.

I manage two attacks in fast succession and she can’t evade both of them. Her right arm isn’t protected by a shield and it shakes when my lightning hits it. She bites her lip in pain but I gloat for a second too long and Evangeline strikes back: A mace-like metal thing is about to pierce my stomach and I can only throw myself to the ground and kick at the spiky ball, disintegrating it with a surge of voltage. Its pieces scatter and I watch them fly out of the ring, threatening to damage innocent bystanders. It wakes the lingering memory of Shade stabbed to death by a diverted magnetron’s needle. I gasp, fearing for the people around me but they’re lucky and splints just clatter on the floor.

Frozen by the old ache and crouching on the ground, I must offer an easy target. I have to force myself to rise, only to realize the hurt is physical as well. Evangeline has already scored some hits since several spikes are buried in my left leg and blood soaks my trousers and drips on the floor.

I wince and summon lightning in my fist, if only to use the sizzle to keep me focused and standing. It doesn’t help. Evangeline pulls the spikes out of me and blood gushes out. The sudden loss of blood makes me too dizzy to contain the electricity. Sparks fly off and vanish. I stumble and need all my energy to remain upright as I face another pattern of Evangeline’s needles dancing around me. I bleed more as I dodge as best as I can but it’s a lost cause to try to run in the tight space. Between painful steps I gather electricity for one last charge with my lightning. Evangeline won’t expect it, neglectful in her defense while she watches my unelegant tripping. I feel the current in my fists, ready to release it, but a new projectile comes my way, urging me to step back with my injured left leg in the moment I throw the lightning at her.

Surprise is no advantage when my aim off from wincing in pain. Instead Evangeline stops toying with me and grants me her whole attention. No longer trying to be subtle, her spikes merge to one huge wedge knocking me over and pressing the air out of my lungs.

* * *

 **The world turns**  black and I hear Evangeline say, “I win”, without waiting for me to yield, as Akkadi did. I don’t rise again. My energy has left me and all I feel is the ache throbbing in my leg and my pants tacked to my wounds, crusty from dried blood. Inappropriate as it is, laying on the floor of a gym full of soldiers is exactly what I need. I don’t care for the commotion and I’m still seeing stars when someone bends over me, muttering something about being a skinhealer. He’s supposed to be careful but it still hurts when he removes the pant from my leg. My sight returns slowly as he starts to heal me. I see silver glitter above me and startle to find Evangeline bending over me.

“Careful,” the healer – Reese, I remember – warns me. His soothing hands numb my agitation and panic as well the pain while I assess my surroundings again. I suppose it was Evangeline who cut open my pant for Reese and now she has the decency to care about her defeated opponent. She seems truly worried, if not only for Farley who stands at the outer edge of the ring, glaring at her.

Reese is almost finished when the shouting starts and a heat wave crosses the gym.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?!!” he roars.

Instinctively, I crawl away but I still feel the fire in Tiberias’s wake. Evangeline is quick enough to get out of his way but Reese isn’t so lucky. Tiberias grabs his collar and his hands scorch Reese’s shirt. Tiberias’s still shouting when Farley enters the ring and helps me up. She should’ve better barked at Tiberias but I take over the task. I walk over my own blood spread on the ground, right into the blazing heat around him. Reese must be sweltering from his assault and this needs to stop. I touch Tiberias’s torrid arm, just long enough to send a shock of electricity through him and it does its purpose. He lets go and stumbles back, startled to see me up and about, now unharmed despite the blood loss, and blistering with sparks of anger.

“Don’t hurt the one who healed me!” I scream and suddenly he looks lost and beaten.

“Mare … you’re alright, that’s great. But he was looming over your naked leg and I couldn’t – “

“Don’t be such a possessive ass!” I shout. “I do well without your misplaced worry.” I turn away, surprised to notice that Evangeline is still there. I wonder why since I expect Tiberias to turn against the causer of my injuries after all. Instead of being scared, she appears strangely smug with her arms crossed in challenge.

It’s Farley who snaps. “Calore!” She steps forward and brushes my hand for a second. I pull away but stay with them. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t attack our esteemed skinhealers,” Farley continues. Meanwhile, Reese has slumped down and has to make do with an ice pack. “We’re relying on each other’s support here. Silver temper tantrums are uncalled for. You understand, your highness?” Farley finishes her reprimand.

Tiberias catches himself. “General,” he says respectfully, then bows to me. I have to look away, but Evangeline is still grinning.

* * *

 **When Farley and**  I finally leave the gym, having gotten Reese another skinhealer and new pants for me, Evangeline runs up to us. She ignores Farley’s pointed gaze and extends her hand to me.

“Good match, Barrow.”

I gape at her for several seconds but she’s unusually patient until I finally shake it.

“Indeed, Samos.”

“I’ll not be as brutal in the next one,” she proposes. “General Akkadi already scolded me for it.”

A laugh escapes my throat.

“I am cooperative, Barrow,” she insists but her face loses amusement.

“To what cause?” I ask.

The corners of her mouth twitch. “My own, I hope. You don’t suppose I think you like this situation? I rather assume we have a mutual interest here.”

“Is that so?” sneers Farley. “Excuse me, your highness, but we’re not here for individual wishes but to win a war so we can enable the liberation and legal equality of the Reds.”

“But individual wishes are the cause of everything we do,” Evangeline replies and pauses. It’s surprising to hear this from her. “Mare,” she starts again, “Tiberias came to look for me as I’ve stolen myself away. But I have no need of his attention. Whereas you – “ she shrugs.

“We have a mutual interest to stop your wedding, you claim?” I ask. “I fear our opinions aren’t decisive in that regard.”

She seems both smug and guilty. “I’ve hoped to convince some people today. Unfortunately, I’m easily … dismissed.”

Right, I’m not relieved by her idea to beat me up to antagonize Tiberias, so I scoff at her. “Sure, Evangeline. I’ve seen your manipulations at work often enough to believe otherwise. To my chagrin.” A part of me regrets the words, realizing she’s just trusted me with her own heartsickness. I lower my head, but I can’t bring myself to take back my words before I turn and leave.

* * *

 **“You follow me**  like a mother hen,” I say to Farley when we reach the administrative tower again.

“As you apparently need someone to keep an eye on you.”

I stop with the hands on my hips. “Go mother your own child.”

“I wish I could,” she utters.

We stand in silence awkwardly and I curse myself for this new lapse. I shuffle my feet. “Sorry. It’s – I want to go home. Or at least to the base. But …”

“We’re here for a reason, aren’t we? So we can’t just leave because we feel lonely?” Farley sighs and brushes my shoulders. “That doesn’t have to be true, Mare. We just talked about taking care of each other.”

I nod.

“Then take care of yourself first. And don’t forget we’re not here forever. I want to see our family again, too.”

I hug her, longer than I intend to. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself,” she reminds me, and I think she needs the embrace as much as I do.

“The same goes for you,” I say.

* * *

 **“We’ve done what**  we can here,” Farley says, shuffling her papers. “I don’t expect to stay here much longer.” She looks satisfied with her notes, at ease in her office room with the sunlight gleaming on her short hair and the glass objects on the desk. I crouch on a chair, watching the setting red sun behind her. “I haven’t relocated those recruits for nothing. And actually … Mare?”

“I’m listening,” I reply but I still stare into the sun, squinting. “And then, what?” Despite what we’ve achieved so far, it feels like we’re only beginning. It seems like the war between Norta – or what’s remaining of her – and the Lakelands will become more real than it ever was. “What will we do about the new royals sprouting from the ground?”

“It’s – “

“Don’t say it’s classified information.” I sigh. “Intrigue leads to nothing and there’ll always be blood. Our blood.”

Farley cocks her head. “I wouldn’t say intrigues are useless. Remember how much has happened so far.”

“You mean we should just assassinate them, like Elara did with Tiberias the sixth?”

“We can’t just kill everyone, or we would’ve done it already.” She looks up and blinks, as if shocked of her own words.

“You needn’t be afraid of microphones or cameras, I’d know if there were any,” I say.

She snorts. “Still surprising how versatile your ability is. Unless there’s someone with super-hearing.”

“Are we competing in paranoia now? Because I always feel watched in this place. Like when everyone saw Tiberias’s theatrics in the gym.” I must be blushing again and focus on my feet.

“Your love-life has always been a kind of public one,” Farley comments, back to her papers. I’m not in the mood for teasing.

“Not everyone can be as secretive as you.” I retort pertly.

She doesn’t take it light-hearted either. She bangs her ball-pen on the desk, and her expression turns dark.

 _Right._ Right. _It was hardly a secret when she was –_

I stand up in a rush. “I didn’t mean …,” I begin but she remains silent despite her obvious anger. “I’m sorry,” I admit, and go to the door. Another glimpse reveals she’s still frustrated.

“I’m okay, Mare,” she claims. “Go if you want, we’re not here to supervise each other.” It’s my cue to leave.

* * *

 **I idle along**  the corridors, torn between weariness and restlessness. The memory of my injuries lingers. I curse myself for my need of attention and I decide I should rather read a book. Corvium lies below me as I pass the windows to my room. Although the city buzzes under the sunlight, it still feels stifling to me. Like a coffin I want to get out of. I yearn for my family and the forests of Winghill, the Piedmont base, instead I’m staring at black walls.

It’s when I feel a familiar warmth engulf me and it chases the cold from my bones. I know he’s behind me and I let him simmer for a minute, yet I’m afraid he might just leave again. But he’s still there when I turn.

Tiberias looks guilty and lost and it both annoys and pleases me. He shouldn’t be proud of his actions and I stare him down, hoping to equal Farley’s glare.

“You can’t just attack people.”

He lowers his head in admission. “I apologize -”

“Apologize to Reese.”

“I did, but I can see you’re even more angry,” he insists and he’s right.

I smile faintly. “You know why I’m angry with you. But such behaviour doesn’t help.”

“Can I not be worried about you?!” he exclaims. “Seeing you hurt and bleeding after all that has happened? These people could do anything to you!”

I can’ help cackling. “ _These people_? I thought they were your allies? But you can’t trust them?” I sigh dramatically. “I suppose it was a good decision not to …” I stop myself because he approaches me, grabs my arms and breathes heavily. His head sinks, just a few inches from touching my brow.

“You were right.”

It hardly feels satisfying, so I don’t know what to say - what does this acknowledgement change? For the moment, I allow myself to enjoy his closeness, to just see and smell Cal, the man I love, and no one else.

He’s the one to let go. I look up to meet his ember-like gaze. “And?” I whisper. “Are you fed up now? Will you keep the promise you gave me and choose me and the Guard instead of the crown?”

_Would you run with me again, away from here?_

His lips quiver and my bravery vanishes. I don’t wait for his objection, for another disappointment, another dismissal of my and any Red’s wishes. If he’s ready to give me a different answer, he’ll know where he can find me.

 


	7. Gisa

**_A/N:_ ** _Oh, something new, a fresh POV_ **-**

**Gisa POV**

**We all squat** together in the living room the first time Colonel Farley visits us. It’s been just one day since Mare left us again in the dead of night, to fight the demon king of her nightmares, and none of the Barrows has forgotten about her last farewell.

We don’t say it, but expect the worst, even if Mom, Kilorn and Tramy are good at distracting us. The colonel’s arrival doesn’t make it better with his sombre face, even though he wears it most of the time. Yet we’re too used to bad news and we steel ourselves against them. I can’t remember not thinking like that and still I feel nauseous. Right now, and every time before. My stitches blurry before my eyes.

But the colonel sounds astounded at our reaction when he greets us. He walks to Mom who embraces Clara tighter and squints at him. “Mrs. Barrow,” he addresses her, “may I – “

“What has happened to my daughter?” she barks back and I see Tramy’s grin at this; it makes me smile as well, for the fraction of a second. But I’m not surprised, of course Mom challenges him, just like Mare and Diana.

The colonel only blinks, first having to grasp our mood, and the room stuffed with fear. He draws back his outstretched hand and straightens himself. “The defense of Corvium was successful. We have no reports on the fallen yet but General Farley informed me of her and Operative Mare Barrow’s well-being.”

He pauses and our relief is visible, just like I feel the ribbons on my chest loosen. Only a little. I think about Cameron, the other electricons, Arezzo and so many more. This place is still strange, full of war-hardened and dangerous people, but I’ve followed Kilorn often enough, and I found friends among them. The colonel doesn’t talk about them. Indeed, his hesitation to go on unsettles me. There’s something he isn’t saying or can’t say. I shouldn’t be bothered, the Scarlet Guard is always like this. Even when I manage to draw tiny threads of information out of Diana if I pester her patiently and subtly enough, her father’s resolve is as hard as iron. He clears his throat and focuses on Mom again. Or rather on Clara. He speaks unusually quiet.

“The general asked me to have a look on her daughter as well,” he admits, almost shy, or embarrassed.

Mom smirks at him, her fingers toying with Clara’s. “Don’t you trust me?”

It startles him even further. “No,” he insists, “of course not, Mrs. Barrow. The general is curious, and worried, naturally. I’m merely – “

Mom laughs and we fall in line. I notice Kilorn’s distinctive cackle, a sound webbed into my memories. The colonel blushes and clears his throat again. “I see that all is well, Mrs. Barrow, I’ll visit you again when I’ve more to tell. Operatives,” he adds and turns to my brothers and to Kilorn, “I expect your presence at yard 7 at 1400,” and then he leaves.

I see Mom’s satisfied expression while she occupies little Clara. As glad as we are about the news, it’s been Mom’s accomplishment to face the fiercest soldier and win, just to lighten our grave mood like a ray of sunshine in a storm. Before Clara was with us, she’s rarely been like that for a long time. It’s something Shade was good at, too. 

* * *

 **It’s like I**  never stop waiting. Once I couldn’t wait to finish my apprenticeship and have my own shop, now I sew – for Clara, my family, the soldiers and myself - just to pass the time. To hone skills not valued here, without the materials I came to love and enjoy to reshape. But work is a good distraction while worry twists beneath my skin. I want Mare to come back, to sleep in my room again, and go away from here. I try to make the best of our stay and be open and kind, but this isn’t a home and never will be.

Half the day I think of Summerton, the Stilts, and the life I had. I’ve started to tell Cameron about it before she left, too, and it amused her, to imagine a town not smothered by smoke. Her joy makes talk more, after I kept my experiences at work to myself, drawing a distinctive border between my family and  _the job_. Now I pride myself to be the only person to make Cameron smile. If it weren’t for her parents, still in New Town, I’d ask her and her brother to come along to be relocated immediately. I wouldn’t hesitate, if Mare agreed. Nor would I be bothered not to see little Clara again for a long time, as cute as she is. Mom wouldn’t be as ready, but I don’t know what to feel about the baby.

Two weeks after Mare left, we’re allowed to make a distance call to her and Diana; it lasts hardly a minute. Yet Mare makes jokes and addresses all of us, promising a soon return. As much as I anticipated the call, as relieved as I am to hear their voices, I notice again something weighing on them and now I spend my empty hours trying to figure it out. 

Mom’s perception is as sharp as mine and she finds ways to keep Dad and me occupied. She tells all of us, Bree, Tramy, and Kilorn as well to attend to Clara, despite their Guard duties. They aren’t any worse than me. Bree never complains and for some reason, Clara sleeps more when she’s with Tramy. Usually, during my turns I leave her in her bed and take a seat to sew and embroider and wait for the inevitable whining. Whatever Mom says, I’m sure Clara notices her mother isn’t here. Why else would she cry every two hours and refuse to be comforted until she’s rocked for 10 minutes?

I thought it would be would be unnerving at first, but it really isn’t. Clara’s just a distraction, and a welcome one in a way. I’m used to hold needles and squint for 10 hours a day, so being forced to take breaks is a strange relief. I miss making true pieces of art and the rich materials I used, most of all the sewing machine. I’m not sure whether one’s here – I think there must be – and it would be too loud to use in this house anyway. Maybe I should just forget those times, but they come back at me in the strangest ways.

* * *

 **Today it’s Tramy’s**  turn with baby-sitting and Mom’s severe frown staunches his – partially fake – commitment. “Best if you wrap Clara in a slip,” Mom demands. “She’s used to being carried around, as Diana does it.” She sighs quietly, and Tramy does as well.

I give him a shove when Mom’s turned away. “Don’t bring you lady-love here,” I whisper to him, “or Diana will kill us if she finds out that you let a Silver get close to her precious girl.”

“Then why are you so disrespectful?” he jokes to dissemble. “It’s General Farley, not Diana.” I give him a stare worthy of Diana.

“And Ms. Ventos isn’t my ‘lady-love’”, he claims, but I’m still not having it.

“So you’re kissing your captive ward? Wow, Tramy. That’s worse. We should know that.”

He’s exasperated. “She isn’t a captive. She’s our ally, and –“

“Yes?” I insist.

He shakes his head. “I trust her, the colonel trusts her, and there’s no reason the general – or you – shouldn’t trust her as well. I’m just her main handler, as she can’t just walk around here without company.”

“Thus you still don’t trust her,” I deduce.

“I didn’t say –“ he starts but I’m already walking off.

* * *

 **I meet Kilorn**  outside. He’s about to leave for the Newbloods as I stop him. “May I go with you?” I ask.

He shrugs in agreement. “No chores today? Or are you tired of your needles and threads?”

“I just like to meet people and talk with them.” I smile at him. “This isn’t the first time I go with you.” I look away quickly when he pats my shoulder. I’m blushing and can’t help it, but my feelings for him are gone. He isn’t for me and never was, nor did he ever see me like that, not even when I got my hand shot in my attempt to help him. It was a stupid idea to begin with, and afterwards, I had bigger things to worry about than a young-girl-crush.

Luther Carver is the first Newblood we visit. Kilorn’s known him for a while, but I haven’t seen him before. He’s small, younger than 10, and sits in the grass with a sketchpad on his knees. He draws on it with a pencil but he flinches when he notices us. His alarm lasts only for a moment, then his face lights up. “Hi, Kilorn!”

We greet him back but as I introduce myself, Kilorn stops me from extending my hand. Luther’s hands are fists covered in cotton gloves. I think harder, realizing he has to be the boy with the withering touch. I tear my eyes from his hands and look at his and Kilorn’s faces instead.

“How are you doing?” asks Kilorn, his open smile as encouraging as always.

Luther sighs, struggling between glancing down and at our friend. “I’m trying. Power flashes are rare, and I usually train with plants. That works well.” He pauses and seems sad out of sudden. “I saw a hurt animal once, a rabbit. I touched it and … it died. Quickly.” He has to sniff. “It was the first time.”

Kilorn nods. “It’s okay if you don’t want to try this out. As long as you keep your ability in check –“

“Oh, I do,” Luther exclaims. “Um, it’s still only in my hands. Though I wish it stays this way, so I know what to avoid. So nothing will happen. And these gloves – I need new ones quite often but they’re cozy and can be washed.” He twists his pencil. “Good for drawing.” He dares to smile a little.

“It feels good to make things,” I say. It’s a reflex but feels right to speak, even more so when Luther beams at me.

“Yes, it does!” he agrees. And for this age, his sketches are really good. Plants and flowers, detailed and life-like.

“See,” Kilorn starts again, “you have to go your own way. If you feel better with gloves, keep them. Find your balance between feeling safe and free.”

“Because I’m in control,” Luther adds.

“Exactly,” says Kilorn, smiling, then becoming serious. “I hope I’m helpful, Luther. But I don’t even have an ability myself.”

Luther shakes his head. “And yet you’re not afraid, not of any of – us.”

Kilorn pats his shoulder, hesitating a fraction of a second for see the boy’s consent. “Someone has to keep us together. The notch team.” 

* * *

 **“I have to**  be home for lunch,” I say later on. “Will you come with me?”

“I’ll eat with Oskar and his friends,” he declines.

 _The stonemaker_ , I remember. “Well, till later,” I reply and dash off. I have to run to our house but I like that. I’ve walked the long way to Summerton often enough and I’ve become a little lazy in the last months. Not that I was motivated to do much sport. I was content to sit in our small rooms to be with my family and know that at least they were safe. But recently, the base’s open spaces turned into an unexpected joy.

* * *

 **“Bring Tramy down,”**  Mom demands when I arrive. But she grins while Dad prepares the table. He likes to help with small tasks to train walking, and Bree assists him. He’s on duty, yet he always arrives on time at meals, so the family can eat together. We need that.

I assume Tramy’s with Clara and go to the room she’s sleeping in. I hesitate at the door. Faintly sung tones emerge from inside, sung by the sweetest voice of Norta. My joy dissolves. I grab the handgrip and open the door. I see it’s not only Norta’s sweetest voice, but her loveliest face as well. Lacey Ventos’s hawkish features are contrasted by a curtain of curly hair like black velvet. The sunlight kisses her olive-brown skin, as if drawn to her, giving her a radiant look. She sings on, not having noticed me. She sits on the bed, while Tramy lays on it, his head in her lap. The scene is both intimate and modest. My brother’s eyes are on her and his hand toys with the ends of her long hair. He’s chosen a dyed tress; its former pink now bleached out like a fabric my mistress would’ve used only for lining.

I close the door behind me, soundly, yet the Silver woman isn’t irked. She turns her head to me but finishes her verse before rousing Tramy. “Ms. Barrow,” she greets me.

“Hello Ms. Ventos,” I reply, only slightly piqued. I don’t have to call her “my lady” here, not anymore, but I needn’t be offensive either.

The couple rises while I look to Clara’s cot. I know I’m blushing, embarrassed at interrupting their romantic moment but unfortunately, the feeling isn’t mutual. Lacey wears the mask of a Silver, as always, even without the elaborate make-up she wore when she came to my mistress’s shop so we might embroider her dresses with colourful patterns and motives, exceeding the limitations of her house colours of blue and orange. And Tramy remains unperturbed, too, I don’t know how, after our earlier conversation.

“Lunch is ready,” I tell him. He says good-bye to his  _lady-love_  and she leaves. I still stand in the door, so she has to squeeze herself through. Lacey has a large and feminine frame, not lean like Mare, nor muscular like Diana. More like me, and I would’ve tried on her dresses that I made, to  _feel_  the richness on myself for once, if Lacey wasn’t more than 20 cm taller than me and a woman grown.

Tramy comes to me at first but checks on Clara when I don’t react. “We’ll let her sleep,” he decides and touches my arm.

“I told you not to bring her here,” I remind him. “And it seems like you two have a clandestine exit already, which makes it worse.”

He sighs deeply. “She makes Clara sleep with her songs.”

“Look,” I say, “you wouldn’t keep her a secret if you thought this was okay. Diana –“

“Let that be my problem,” interrupts me. He stares at me until I give in.

“Fine. Your problem, just do as you wish.” I turn around and move away.

“Do you hate her?” he asks to my back.

“I had to work for her. She’s a haughty, vain Silver.”

“But she believes in our cause, really. She’s made the pledge.” He’s caught up and stares at me again. “She’s a good one, like Mare’s friends. Probably more so.”

I sigh dramatically, fully aware that I’m exaggerating my dislike because it isn’t real. Lacey Ventos impresses me every time I meet her, more than I like to admit.

I’ve almost expected to smell her perfume on my brother, but of course, she hasn’t used it since she came as a captive, after she surrendered during the first battle of Corvium.

* * *

 **I sit outside**  with my sewing basket when I see her again, later that afternoon. She approaches me and I look up, squinting. Her hair’s moved by the wind, the dyed tresses grown out to her ears. Her clothes are as simple and threadbare as those of everyone here but they hug her perfectly; most of all her red shirt. The colour was forbidden to her as a non-royal burner at the Nortan court; now she wears it freely. For whatever reason, her face is friendly and severe at the same time, and even with her imperfections revealed now, she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

I nod curtly to acknowledge her; she sits down in across from me.

“I’ve tried to meet your sister at court a year ago,” she says after a while with her melodic voice.

“Aha,” I utter, too unsure for more.

“Mareena Titanos, the real one I mean, was my cousin, you see,” she explains. “We shared the same grandfather, the storm Luiz Nolle.”

I don’t answer.

“But the witch queen wouldn’t let me. None but a chosen few were allowed to come close to the lost ‘princess’. For good reason, apparently.” She chuckles half-heartedly. “Although I was related to that bitch Elara as well.”

I blink, miss a stitch, and curse, before I spin my head to Lacey. “What?”

Her black eyes are focused on me. “The Queenstrial was a year ago on this day.”

“Was it? I haven’t noticed. I have other worries,” I reply and turn away again.

She shrugs. “I’m good with dates, information and all that.”

I’ve guessed so, as she doesn’t seem like the fighting type.

“Tramy says you don’t trust me but there’s a reason I wasn’t ransomed. Because I don’t want it, although my family would’ve paid for me long ago.

“I miss them. Mostly Cassie.”

I stop sewing. “If you’re so empathetic, why did you use people like me?”

Finally, I’ve managed to make her uncomfortable. “Because … I like pretty things, I assume. And I hope I’ve always paid you accordingly.”

She did, but that’s not the real matter which I can’t pin down. I shake my head. “Then show me. Prove your allyship.”

She smiles faintly. “That might be difficult. Actually, I’ve talked to General Farley, and she gave orders to me. Though they might be considered classified Information.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Of course –“

“But there’s something you can help me with.” She outstretches her hand to me in invitation. I notice her wrists are bare, her sparker bracelets removed long ago. Yet I take her hand and unlike Cal’s, it isn’t hot at all, but of a perfectly regulated temperature. Her eyes are still fixed on me, black like onyx, shining with feverish conviction. She wants to win me over, but unlike Cal, she’s ready to make sacrifices and give something back as well. She asks for my help, but in a way, she makes an offering too.

“I’m listening,” I say. 

* * *

 **Tramy waits for**  me in the living room, this time he has Clara with him. We exchange some pointed glances, as we’re used to do. I’m certain he must have planned this meeting together with his girlfriend.

“She isn’t that bad, is she?” he blurts finally, the first of us to break the uncomfortable silence.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling although amusement lingers in my voice. “She’s actually nice.”  _And committed_.

Tramy looks extremely relieved. Then he smirks. “Though she’s rather determined, like the general, if you think about it.”

My jaws drops but he’s so _, so_  right. I let out an amused sigh and roll my eyes. “Burners and activists,” I mutter, then louder, “it’s almost scary how we Barrows all fall for the same brand of persons.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I have to clear my throat and need all of my trained-on self-control to calm myself. But he insists. “Gee, out with it.”

“Well, okay, I might’ve had a little, superficial crush on Ms. Ventos. Years ago, and totally over now.”

“Gisa!”

“So, I wish you the best. Honestly. While I … like someone else now, anyway.”

His curiously has peaked. “But not Kilorn? He’s great, but –“

“Oh no, not him.” I smile. “Another girl, of my age,” I add, thinking of Cameron and wishing she’ll return safe and soon with Mare and Diana.   

 


	8. Gisa

**Gisa POV**

**At first, all**  Lacey wants is me to accompany her when Tramy can’t. It’s difficult to separate her tasks from mere socializing: I think she doesn’t want me to know about her work as I’m not a Scarlet Guard member, and I still don’t intend to become one. Yet the same is true for every Silver I know apart from her. Cal, Julian, Sara, they all seek only their own benefits. Cameron’s told me as much though she wavers on Sara’s wishes. She mentioned Sara’s help in training her which comes close to praising for Cameron. Now the skinhealer is in Corvium along with Mare and Cal while Mr. Jacos sits between his papers, beakers and bulbs.

Lacey visits him frequently when she has me come along. I was curious the first time, but I learned it’s more small talk between them, mostly old stories with Queen Elara being blamed. Apparently, Lacey’s mother was a Merandus but her own family abused her at a young age and hurt her too deeply to heal. It left Lacey with an enduring hatred for her own kind. She doesn’t say this to Mr. Jacos but her words are lined with judgement and guilt.

What I don’t find out is whether Mr. Jacos prefers to remain ignorant or takes her insights to heart. I suspect she doesn’t really care either. She’s dissembling, wanting to keep him talking and having access to him – and his studies.

Julian Jacos likes to drone about his projects even more, to her rejoice. Though his reports aren’t very detailed, as I manage to understand them as well, thus I suppose it’s not enough for Lacey. She might’ve known these things from an early age while they just help me to patch up questions I’ve had for some time. But she keeps on smiling, to everyone she meets, and I play along, versed in this game as well. Yet I remember her expression, it’s same one she wore when I thought her to be a vain and air-headed rich Silver, a girl to be dismissed.

“Actually, Mr. Jacos is not as ignorant as you may think he is,” Lacey says to me when we leave the part of the archives he’s working at. “He usually prefers to be the enlightened one himself, who sees through our games and facades. Now he would’ve to agree with me instead, in the presence of a Red like you, and he’d rather argue with me but can’t.”

She glances at me and I meet her eyes. I wish she’d just go on, not play with me.

“It unsettles him,” she adds after the unnecessary pause. “Makes him wish to change the topic so he can prattle. Until he lets something slip.”

She looks proud of herself and it’s my turn to be silent and let her wonder. Seconds drag by.

“I thought about our earlier conversation, Ms. Ventos,” I say eventually. “About how I feel uncomfortable to be your … friend.” I take a breath until I have her full attention. Even though I’ve earned as much, her humbleness is hardly satisfying to me. “When you were the lady and I was the servant, I was always afraid, of every step and stitch I made. I could barely trust my mistress, Ms. Hadley, though she never punished me for real. But I could’ve lost my apprenticeship at any time, if I wasn’t good, talented, or diligent enough. Or if I messed up with a customer – someone like you – and drew rumours to the shop and a bad reputation to me. I would’ve been banished from Summerton.

"So I had to be perfect and I was. With every praise I collected, my fears vanished and I could dream of a better life. But when you and your kind entered, my self-confidence was replaced by nervousness.”

I’m good at keeping my tears at bay, I’ve been for a long time. “Ms. Barrow,” Lacey says with strange compassion, but I’m not finished.

“You Silvers don’t act logical, so what were my efforts worth? You could’ve gotten away with almost everything, if you wanted to damage me, and out of a whim. You had power over me, and I can’t forget that. Nor can I trust you when wariness is what kept me alive”.

 _But it didn’t help me in the end_ , I think. I offended the Silvers, paid for it, and lost my future. Maybe it was for the better, given what we were pulled into in the end. I shouldn’t wish back my old life, but I loved a not small part of it, of becoming a mistress in creating beautiful fashion.

Lacey had enough time to swallow my words. Again, her consternated face means nothing to me, it’s only the bare minimum. “I apologize for exploiting your position,” she says finally. It startles me. “I tell you I resent the other Silvers, yet I looked away when it felt easier. I … claimed I wanted to use my connections, but how can I say that when it took my capture to turn my coat for real?”

Warm winds and chirping birds are the only noises around us while I brush my tears away. Lacey holds her composure, of course, but it costs her. I see the fractures in her attitude, her conviction to be a “good” Silver. It’s gone, replaced by shame, and she’ll have to live with that. As all humans have to live with their wrong-doings, more or less severe.

“I don’t want to fight,” I say. “I want me and my family to be happy.”

“Yes,” she admits. “Thank you for telling me all of that. It’s never easy.”

I nod gravely. “So you fight for us, and I’ll help you.”

* * *

 **Days later, she**  asks for me again. Seems like both of us preferred other work and company for a little time, though I’m a little glad she approaches me again. Whatever she searches for, it can’t wait any longer. I should demand her to tell me about it, out of fairness. Accomplices need at least some kind of trust.

Yet we keep up our charade, displaying distance only broken in fractions of moments when we look at each other, smirking, while our unaware informant doesn’t pay attention. Today it’s the colonel who isn’t allowed to pay attention to my and Lacey’s connection. I stop in time before he opens a door, but he storms out of the room without hesitation and almost stumbles over me. I give him a glare in his daughter’s manner and I’m lucky he recognizes me, thus displaying a modicum of politeness. While he apologizes and I greet him, Lacey takes flight to Jacos’s archives. I wonder why she’s so careful, it’s possible Mr. Jacos or another person is telling the colonel about her comings-and-goings.

The colonel moves to pat my shoulder in a strangely fatherly manner but I step away. “You haven’t visited us in a while,” I remind him. “My mother is worried, the baby cries, and my brothers are nervous. Please, if something happened to my sister – “ I stop in a pleading voice though my concern is real. There has to be a reason they’re staying away for so long, yet the whole base is ignorant of these politics.

The colonel jumps at my bait. “I’m surprised, Ms. Barrow, your brothers already know about the broadcast this evening. Your questions should be answered then.”

I blink, startled. “Oh.”

He outstretches his hand again but only to touch my sewing basket. “It won’t be long until the return of our operatives,” he adds.

“I see,” I say, give him a placating smile and turn away. “Well, I have some shirts to deliver.”

He waves his hand in farewell, it’s almost amusing.

Lacey crouches in a corner of the archives, Mr Jacos isn’t there. I go to her and notice she’s occupied with an unremarkable door, fumbling at the lock with a lighter.

“What are you doing,” I whisper, “intending to  _melt_  it?”

She blinks, blushing silver. “That won’t work,” I tell her, “and would be impossible to hide. Let me.” I sift through my sewing basket to find a set of needles, picking those I can do without. “I would expect a spy to be a lock-picker. Now, you’re lucky Mare and I trained this.”

She chuckles. “I’m humbled, you’re wonderful. Actually, my cousin Cassie can open every locked door, but she’s a telky and that … can’t be taught.”

During the minutes I work at our entryway, she keeps looking out for visitors. “You don’t want Mr. Jacos to know?” I ask.

“He doesn’t go in there either, and I would’ve taken his key if he did. That part of the archives is practically a mystery.”

The lock clicks and I rise with a moan, giving Lacey a smug glance.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Barrow, I’m indebted to you,” she says and curtseys to me.

The room is dusky, dusty, and full of books and other papers placed in simple steel shelves. It’s not huge but totally crammed. The part I look through is hardly useful. Every book is written in code or languages I don’t know, and I’ve never been good at reading strange hands. Lacey went further down and skims through folders, probably type-written. I take a last try before joining her, with a small book with one page larger than the rest. I flip to it and see it’s a photo. Old, showing a lovely Asian young woman with black hair and a pale, rosy complexion. I turn it around to read on the bakside, “Irene Asada, Ardent, 16 y.” There's date from more than 25 years ago, too. I shrug and approach Lacey. She’s obviously dissatisfied, switching from her paper to mine immediately. I don’ think she expected much but her eyes widen at the sight of the photo. Then she focuses on the book.

“You can read it?” I marvel.

“I speak a little of the Lakelands tongue,” she replies without looking up. “Some people in the north west do as well, like this writer.”

“And?”

“Oh, this is a prize,” she mumbles. “ _Irene is an Ardent brought by her parents … similar to me,_  umm, _actually not, her touch is like a drug, not … sickening_?” Lacey blinks, confused, and sits down. “ _An asset for the Grand Task … I don’t think it’s grand, it’s murder … but necessary … many healers have died so far … but more_ – “ She gasps. “ _Every one of the scattered bases is a new challenge … Irene’s helpful, people do her biding … then I_ – Oh!” She stops.

“What is it?” I insist, curious to learn, but she stares into nothingness.

“They killed them …”

“I thought so?”

“No, they,” she has to clear her throat. “ _I am a plague_ , the writer says. Oh, gracious queen.”

“Can you please explain?”

Lacey frowns at me and sighs loudly. “Imagine all skinhealers died.”

“Hmm.” Their presence is a relief, our Red medics are versed, but expensive. I flex my right hand. Without Sara, it would still hurt and be hardly useful, and Dad would still be in his wheelchair. Yet we dealed with our states –

“The Silvers don’t have medics,” Lacey says finally, weirdly calm. “If someone just coughs or sniffs, a skinhealer is called. You think we’re gods, Gisa Barrow? We’re only humans with weak, cursed blood. Spread an infective disease among Silvers and we die like flies without our magic healers.

"And that’s what happened to the Monfort Silvers. They lived in clusters and fortresses, but Irene and her trainer broke in, as the trainer had the ability to make people ill.”

I flinch as she slams the book shut. “I’ll give this to the general when she comes back. Maybe she reads the Lakelands tongue as well.”

I realize I don’t wholly believe her. She’s completely shaken by this revelation and able to incinerate the book in an instant. Perhaps she’s just like Cal, protective of Silvers. But she’s already left before I can speak up or take the book from her.

* * *

 **There’s an assembly**  hall at the base, but my family and I go to a smaller room, designed for meetings. “I’ve no idea how things are at home at the moment,” Dad says and shakes his head, excited about getting news.

“They hardly tell us anything here,” Mom adds.

“There aren’t only Nortans here, Ruth.”

“Still, should be better.” Mom is disgruntled, but I’m sure she’s curious too, like all of us. If my brothers and Kilorn know more already, they don’t show it. I cross my arms like Mom, but quickly change my position again, nervous without something to occupy my hands with. I glance at the officer preparing the screen for the broadcast, but he makes no announcement before the screen lights up. The picture is dark at first, apart from a silhouette standing in the spotlight. The camera zooms in and I gasp – the person on the screen, still in a half-darkness, is Mare.

“We’ll rise, red as the dawn,” she calls. Her face brightens slowly, like the only light in a storm. “Citizens of Norta!” she goes on and the picture changes. A stage becomes visible, with several persons on it, Mare in front of them. She steps back and I take a look at her companions, and for a moment, I fall back into the days of her captivity. Because at first, all I see are the metal princess and the fire king with her. I blink, again and again, until my vision clears. Not the fire king who tortured my sister, but Cal. Mare stands on the right side of the group, next to Diana. Cal’s in the middle, then come the metal girl and the Monfort premier, Davidson.

_It’s not like then it’s not like then it’s not -_

“You know me, Mare Barrow, as the Lightning Girl swaying from one side to another. As I had to fight to survive, I had to tear myself apart, to play roles dictated on me, but I never forgot my dream. To end the suffering of the Reds by Silver hands. Now Maven Calore ended the war with the Lakelands, but only to focus on slaying Reds more directly, actually those rising with the Scarlet Guard and anyone who doesn’t fit his restrictive worldview. Although his actions have torn apart our country, this is a chance for renewal, for Reds, Silvers and Newbloods.”

Her part is over, and the camera shifts to Davidson on the left. “Ladies and gentlemen, the country Ms. Barrow wishes for exists. I am Dane Davidson, the premier of the Republic of Monfort, and a Newblood. We have built a state with democratic values, a government consisting of elected representatives. After years of becoming a new nation, we procured contacts to the Scarlet Guard in Norta and the Lakelands, to support those brave Red men and women in their fight for justice and equality. Despite Maven Calore’s lies and accusations, we have found great allies with the Scarlet Guard who strive for peace between the bloods and races. They are a group which has only ever welcomed Newbloods like me, as well as Silver supporters.”

Diana goes to the front, with a stiff composure and a serious expression where Davidson appeared friendly. Of course, she only smiles for Clara.

“The Scarlet Guard,” she begins, “has seen itself confronted with vicious propaganda, set to undermine any further support and recruitment of the rebellion. We, the Scarlet Guard, could not let that stand, yet I and other commanders decided to prove our intentions and aptitude with actions instead of words which Maven Calore uses only for lies and deceptions. So we fought. We conquered and defended Corvium, freed Ms. Barrow and many more Newbloods from their captivity and forced service by the pretender king, and we reunited the soldiers of the choke with their families. While we’re glad about every person who decides to join our cause, we won’t conscript them like slaves. We want your loyalty given according to your own free will and conviction, or not at all.

"And thus, I’m happy to still find Prince Tiberias at my side, fighting for Reds, for what is right, and now determined to destroy the pretender and tyrant Maven, by taking back his throne as King Tiberias Calore VII!”

_What?!_

Diana shouted the last line like a herald, to my great shock. A smile shows on her face, but it’s not amused at all, more like flashing a dagger and gone in an instant.

Just when Cal is about to start talking. He doesn’t display the self-confidence of the previous speakers and shifts on his feet before he begins. Yet he finds his stance soon enough, like the royal he was raised as.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my lords, Your Majesties and dear subjects, these are times of change. I have faced these challenges personally, and I will continue to do so, even while seeking unlikely partners. Monfort and the Scarlet Guard have the grace of backing the claim taken from me, as does the royal House Samos of the Rift.

"The Norta I was born in, as were many others, exists no longer. But that should not make you afraid because with your help, I will build a new country which will offer generosity to Reds, esteem to Silvers, and respect for each other. This will happen in peace, as Norta and the Kingdom of the Rift have pledged to support each other, settled by the union of me and Princess Evangeline Samos, my future queen, who will help me along with the Scarlet Guard and Monfort, to create the country of Norta anew.”

Cal outstretches his hand to the metal princess and she takes it like the demure ladies in ancient stories, stepping forward with her “betrothed”. I cannot believe what this is. Mare stands next to the man she loves as he announces a wedding between him and another woman. And Diana? Proclaiming Cal as “king” after making fun of his regal antics behind his back and being impatient to see all crowns fall? None of this seems real or makes sense, yet it must be. I feel lost, confused, I need answers, I want Mare back and –

Princess Evangeline lets go off Cal, it’s her turn to speak. I force myself to concentrate. She waits, enjoying her moment in the spotlight, having the last words. Mare’s told me of her intricate dresses she molds from metals, suspecting it interests me. It does. But the princess’s outfit today isn’t a miracle of fashionable design, or a dress. She’s covered with tight sheets of metals, shaped like the uniforms her companions on the stage are wearing. She looks like a toy soldier made of cast iron, like a frozen mockery.

Yet her face becomes lively, determined and threatening, when she finally speaks. “To create King Tiberias’s visions, grand tasks lie in front of us, and they will not be easy to fulfil. As we will have to ruin and destroy before we can rebuild.”

The screen turns dark, the light in the room is on again. The colonel was wrong, my questions weren’t answered by the broadcast. So feels everyone in the room as their quarreling starts.

 


	9. Mare

**_A/N:_ ** _The chapter in which nothing happens XDD Only plotwise, that is. This chapter goes emo._

**Mare POV**

**I don’t need**  to look up to mark the moment the cameras are turned off. Instead I close my eyes, breathing in and out. I have to banish the lies and pretends out of me. What a dream we told the audience about, if only it was true. But that would make Tiberias a king and I still can’t bear to see that happen.

I’ve fallen behind. Farley, Tiberias, Davidson and Evangeline build a little group on the stage and discuss. It’s amazing how honest Farley and Davidson sound, and I wonder if their plans will change. It was Davidson’s idea to pitch the nobles against one another, yet I still hardly know him. If he obtains what he wants, he might found another alliance and discard those not following. I shake my head which catches Tiberias’s attention and our eyes meet. He turns to me, seeming worried, and for a moment, I want to give in. But just for a moment. I straighten myself and leave the stage.

Trusting them is only a dream, and Tiberias won’t be a good king. He can’t even listen for a few minutes without getting distracted – by me. If he wishes to change the world, he has a long way to go.

* * *

**I’ve gathered more**  than a dozen books by now; and three of them are on the bed with me. Corvium is full of cast-off clutter, be it books or clothes or weapons. I couldn’t afford much reading in the Stilts, but since I dropped into Queenstrial, I’ve begun to enjoy it. Books are calming, books offer information I crave. I’m not naive enough to believe all of their messages but they’re everything I have. No wonder Julian adores them. Even if books lied, they didn’t choose me as their victim of deceit.

There’s a knock on my door and I bid my visitor in. I greet Farley when she enters but I notice she’s as reluctant and careful as usual when she’s around me, and I’m uncertain if I’m glad or angry about it.

She sits down on the edge of my bed. “I’ll leave tomorrow,” she tells me. “Some Guard soldiers are to go to the Piedmont base and I’ll accompany them.”

“Ah,” I reply, putting my lecture away and waiting for more.

She smiles. “It’s about time. The Silvers are leaving too, while the Samos princeling will remain here, ‘to rule’, and well.” She shrugs.

“You can’t bear to work with him,” I add in her stead and she inclines her head. Suddenly, she grabs a pillow of mine and pulls it close.

“I don’t know how I let so much time pass here. Almost a month.” She snorts. “A month since I saw Clara.”

“Farley – “

“I want to have her with me again. I feel almost guilty. However important  _this – “_ she glances around the room, “ – is, when I work for the Guard, I have to rely on other people anyways. I can delegate. But Clara has no other … parent, and I want to be hers. More than anything, but …” she trails off suddenly.

I move closer to lean against her. “Don’t…” I begin, “… I mean, you do your best. But I know Mom worries about you, and I do too. You can’t do everything by yourself, so don’t overwork yourself, okay?” I improvise, though apparently, I said it right.

“Compromising, huh?” Farley sums it up. She sighs. “Sometimes I think I wouldn’t have these problems if I had Shade at my side. None. Everything would be perfect, even the progresses in the war.”

My brother’s name pierces my heart after all. I go still as Farley mumbles, “how easily we idealize people we love.” She hugs me.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” she asks and for some reason, I stiffen further. “You don’t have to,” she continues, “you can stay, or go with someone else – “

“Don’t manipulate me.”

She lets go of me. “That wasn’t my intent-”

“Really?” I sneer.

Her gaze is unwavering, unavoidable. “If you think I do, my intention doesn’t matter,” she concedes. “I’m sorry. It’s your decision. Rafe, Sara and Cameron will come with me, Ella and Tyton will stay until they’re needed elsewhere. And if you want to return later on, there’ll be other chances, I’m making sure of it.”

I expect her to leave but she hesitates and brushes my shoulder. “Thanks for listening to me,” she says. You know you can come to me if you need anything.”

"I’m aware,” I answer. My face feels stony, yet I bring myself to smile. “I’d wish you a good journey, but why should I when I’m coming with you? I can’t wait to see my family either.”

She smiles back, although her worry lingers. “The plane leaves at 6 am,” she informs me.

* * *

**Packing the things**  I‘ve collected here isn’t what stops me from sleeping. I’m not half as sure about leaving as I pretended to be, and I know the reason. I’ve talked with other Newbloods and soldiers from Piedmont to learn whether they’d go or stay, but I avoided one person and I know I can’t go without meeting him once more.

It’s after midnight when I walk the corridors of the tower like a ghost, slow, unseen, and procrastinating what I desire to do. Yet I find his rooms despite never having been there before. Light emanates from under the door, and I hear and smell a fire in his chimney. I wonder if those were built especially for the Calore apartments, then about why there aren’t watchmen to see here. Likely Tiberias thinks he doesn’t need them, or doesn’t want them. I can relate to both, though I can’t imagine to trust his new allies as much, if I was in his place – do the Samos see him as irreplaceable as Anabel does? After all I experienced with Evangeline –

I hear steps from inside and I force myself not to run away when the door opens. It’s him, and he looks more shocked than when hit by lightning. I don’t want to know his thoughts about my presence, thus I enter his room by pushing him aside, walking to his cluttered desk, full of maps and notes.

“I’m developing possible strategies,” he says behind me. He’s followed me back in, and when I turn my head, I’m startled by his closeness. Visibly. He notices, smiles and, thank his colours, he doesn’t do more than that. I go away a step and drop into his chair. It’s comely piece of furniture, old and used but comfortable, intricately manufactured and well-tended.  It’s typically him. If I looked around his room, would I see more of his personality reflected here? Yet the idea is soon replaced by the sour tang of the advantages he’s allowed, even urged, to enjoy as a royal Silver. I should act on it and leave, but that wouldn’t erase the reason I came for. To say farewell, I remind myself.

Before I can do this, he bends over the desk from the other side. “Archeon can be attacked, as we saw already,” he explains, assuming I want to talk about his maps, or just glad to speak with me at all. “But that would’ve mostly symbolic meaning,” he goes on, “and even that lessens with each new try. The ruling council can still escape, and their routes are changed now, as you’ve told us. And our court spies …” he lets the words hang in the air, maybe doubting if the twin Newbloods with Maven are still “ours”.

Tiberias clears his throat. “However, that might be for the better. If anything happened to Princess Iris as well, the war with the Lakelands might start anew.” He looks at me, finally, expecting me to have an opinion on this, and I have many. Does he still search for ways to spare Maven? Does he really believe the Cygnets would start a war over dead royals, as if the war hasn’t been only a ruse for a century? And what if Monfort wants this, the Calores and Cygnets destroying each other, despite the lives taken as collateral damage?

I don’t mention any of this and merely return his gaze, trying to find out if he’s again becoming the prince I met a year ago. We’re so close, our hands just a centimeter apart from touching, until he bridges the distance. Just the faint touch of his fingers tingles in my hand, then these sparks move upwards. I swallow.

“When will those plans be put into use?” I ask, to break the silence, to dissemble.

He tilts his head, surprised but not reacting to the short moment of arousal which I’m sure has shown on my face. “Maybe never,” replies he, and this confuses me.

“Excuse me?”

He laughs joylessly. “ _My_  council can’t decide who to attack first. Every one of the Steelfire Alliance insists on their opinion, on securing their personal vendettas and profit …”

I bit at my lip for the stupid name, and because Tiberias doesn’t realize he has to make a decision for them if he wants to be king. Then I think it’s for the better if he hesitates to embrace the role, so he might abandon the crown after all. Or it only means he’ll continue as before, never trying to change Norta because he’s unable to believe in reforms to begin with –

He’s focused on me, full of interest while not understanding me at all and I want to scream.

Instead I cup his head in my hands and kiss him. He joins in, stunned but rejoicing and I notice his yearning when I pull away a little, to switch from lips to neck, to murmur, “you idiot”, or, “how could you”. But I don’t stop, granting myself the pleasure and the power I have over him, for now. Although  _this_  is merely an illusion, no matter how hard he kisses me, how demanding his hands are as they scout my body, and no matter how the heat rises around him, I’m not enough to divert him from his throne, nor do I want to be. He’s the one who should’ve learned.

I break the kiss, leaving both of us panting, him flushed with a pale sheen of Silver and me pink and ruddy.

“Mare,” he whispers, taking me in, happily disbelieving what’s happening. Then his excitement wavers, and I guess which sight upsets him. I fumble in my pocket for the ear stud he gave me and hold it up between us. His unease becomes more apparent, confirming me I assumed right.

“Have I told you how my brothers gave me earring when they were conscripted?” I say, aware I already did. But I pretend otherwise and continue. “I’ve come to inform you that I’m going away as well, so I want to give you this.”

Tiberias squints his eyes. “Will you take it?” I inquire and he nods decidedly.

“Yes.” He leans further over the desk and I sit down on top of it while I prepare to pierce his ear. I delay the act, enjoying every second, like he does.

“It might hurt for a few days,” I state, calmer than I feel. “And I doubt a skinhealer could help with that.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m not – ow!”  

His gasp lures a faint chuckle out of me. The hands that pierced his ear now linger on his cheeks and for the last time, I make a memory of his simmering bronze eyes. But I pull away the moment I feel a touch against my fingers; it’s Tiberias checking on his sore ear. “Don’t touch it too much,” I chastise him, softly. I shake my head.

“Good night,” I say, “fare well.” I slide off the desk, stumble over his chair and dash out of his room and along the corridors.

* * *

**Nothing about last** night was a good idea. I slept only in short intervals and had to get up just three hours after I laid down. Of course, that’s not the main problem, even though it’s easy to pretend it is to the other passengers on the plane. Tiredness and headaches are welcome excuses when Cameron wonders why I make an especially poor move in the same game of cards we played on the way to Corvium. The play only wakes memories of that trip, and how different everything was between Tiberias and me, lest I forget last night and how it showed me what could be.

I don’t want this. And despite my lack of concentration, I play on until Cameron has to think I act uncannily. Though there’s neither a storm outside nor a battle waiting for us, I have to take care to keep my electricity in check, so it won’t interfere with the plane’s functions. I realize it’s the first time I’m flying without Tiberias, or at least I can’t remember one. I catch Rafe looking at me once, when I lose another match and emit sparks as I drop my hand.

“These boxes are too small for us,” he says with an encouraging smile, and for the first time today, I have to smile back, without faking a good humour.

“Yes, we’re like the storm clouds planes hate more than anything.”

His answer is a laughter that fills the large cabin, and I and those around us have to fall in.  _I’m the storm_ , I tell myself,  _I won’t be caged again_.

* * *

**It’s still august,**  and thus, although a month has passed, the heat of Piedmont hits me when I exit the plane. The sunlight is an unexpected but welcome comfort. Not so for some other passengers, Farley among them, who take off their jackets immediately. I switch to observe my surroundings. The landing place is as good as empty, only a few people and transports wait for us. One of them is the colonel who was in charge of the base in the absence of Davidson and the generals.

“Hello, look who’s there!” I spin on my heel, startled by the call at me, and see my brother.

“Bree! Hi!” I squeak to my surprise. I rise to my toes and fall into his arms while he picks me up so I no longer touch the ground. I almost expect him to start twisting us.

“Welcome back, Operative Barrow,” he says into my hair, still holding me tight. “I’m sure you did important stuff, but you could’ve messaged us a little more often.”

He speaks with a smile in his voice and I reciprocate his joy. “Good to see you too, you giant,” I answer. “How’s the family doing?”

He lets me down. “Oh, good, good. Hmm, I’m here as a driver, but I can stop and let you out at home.” He winks at me and gestures to a shuttle bus, then pats my cheeks, suddenly more serious. “I’m really happy to see you here again, Mare. I’m glad every time when someone returns.”

I stand with him and help while he guides the soldiers into his bus and I’m amazed by his professional politeness while I just manage to greet those people I know and try to subdue my nervousness about meeting my family. When Bree’s about to get in, Farley’s the last one to enter.

In the bus, Cameron watches her curiously. Her lasting observation ears her a glare from Farley. “What?” she snaps finally.

Cameron giggles. She’s loosened her braids recently so her hair surrounds her like a cloud. Together with her amusement, it makes her look much younger. “You seem weirdly gloomy but aren’t actually gloomy so I think you’re trying to hide something awkward,” she ponders.

It makes Farley gape, then biting her lip. She lets us wait for an answer. “The colonel explicitly told me he can wait with a briefing,” she mumbles finally. “Even patted my shoulder,” she adds. “Really awkward.” Cameron’s laugh is contagious.

* * *

**Only Farley and**  I exit when the bus stops close to my family’s house. “If that wasn’t conspicuous,” Farley remarks.

“Aren’t you authorized to make some exceptions?” I retort, to which she  _hmph_ s.

Dad opens the door for us and I’m still stunned to see him on his feet. He hugs me and shakes Farley’s hand before he guides us in. “Only Mom and I are here,” he says. “Oh, and the little one too. The others are out on some duties, but they’ll return for lunch.”

Mom has less sense for a polite welcome. She tries to hide her joy and chastises us instead. “Girls, now tell me what that video was about? We hardly got reports about you at all! And your father, Diana, was especially sparse with information.”

“I’ll inform him.”

“Oh, I did already. But why did you think it was okay to leave me alone with this storms-crying child?”

“Ruth, we all helped you,” Dad calls in and Farley blinks, obviously embarrassed.

“Well, she wasn’t a cry-baby when I – “ Farley replies helplessly. “I just hope she’ll recognize me still …” Then Clara cries from somewhere.

Mom shakes her head, though grinning. “Really, this discontendedness – Clara must’ve gotten that from you.” But Farley’s already off to find Clara in her basket on the couch. The baby’s crying was short-lived.

“Thank you so much, Ruth,” Farley says before she turns her full attention on Clara. “Hello Clara, my little dove. Did you miss me? Mama missed you terribly …” As she takes the baby into her arms, I feel Mom’s hand on my back too.

* * *

**My siblings indeed**  come home for lunch, as does Kilorn. Their solidarity is impressing, and a great comfort. I love my family and I’ll fight for them, no matter which side Tiberias is on. I won’t lose anyone else of them again.

Once we finished eating and Kilorn and my siblings are slowly getting ready to return to their tasks, Clara wakes and cries again.

“Hey, let’s see if you like some lunch as well,” Farley mutters to her and goes to a bedroom. Suddenly, I find myself alone with Mom.

“Mare, why don’t you tell me what really weighs you down?” she asks and pulls me close. I don’t want to speak at first, rather dissemble in the same way I did in the last month.

“I …”

“I know you like to run away, and that’s fine. Sometimes, it’s the only way. But I’ll wait for you, Mare. I’m always there.”

I’ve seen Mom break anyone’s defenses, including mine. Yet when my tears start to fall and I begin to talk, it feels different. Something is me has broken, but something is patched as well. 

* * *

**_A/N 2:_**   _If Farley feels guilty, that is my fault, having her stay at Corvium for a freaking month without thinking first -.-°. Maybe Aveyard will know better and see her return after two days or so ;-) And I’m aware the “I’m the storm” line reminds of acomaf, so I tried to change a wording a little ;-)_

 


	10. Evangeline

**_A/N:_ ** _This was such fun to write. Hope you’ll enjoy it as well … ;-)_

**Evangeline POV**

**Ridge House presents**  itself at its best to receive its royal family back at their residence. Magnetrons in immaculate uniforms, both Samos cousins and commoners, line the way with utmost respect and drill. Their shiny guns are held in firm grips, each one is custom-made by its owner’s magnetron ability. As are the numerous blades, some of the larger ones lifted up in the air when our arrival is announced.

I step out of the shadows beneath the plane, laying my hand as slowly as possible on Tiberias’s arm; he stands rigid and controlled. It shall not matter. Silver royals don’t need to smile friendly at their court. The prince and I are set to go first so the kingdom of the Rift may admire their princess and the rightful king the family’s brought back from his drear exile. As if he was a prize I won when it’s a sentence for both of us. In his uniform, he looks just like a year ago, when no one doubted the crown prince’s ascension. On his side, my metal dress gleams even though I haven’t put thought into it, and only let the metal form itself into a wearable shape. Yet Mother asked me to fix a few black cloths onto it which now move slightly in the breeze and brush the bare parts of my skin. I haven’t made efforts with my hair either, now it falls down oddly straight. 

Our soldiers actually cheer at our small parade and they become louder when Mother and Father follow behind me. Back on the plane, Mother complained how much she’d prefer to have a cat of prey accompanying her but it was impossible to bring one to Corvium to begin with. Now she can’t wait to make up for it and check on her menagerie here as soon as possible while Anne, her falcon, flies behind her. The bird is right before Queen Dowager Anabel who walks alone, in front of the Silver soldiers picked to fight in the battle a month ago. Tolly would’ve walked with her, if he didn’t stay in Corvium. I miss him already while he has Wren staying with him.

I look forward to glimpse at the people expecting us right before the door.  _It has to be Elane._  Meanwhile, Tiberias falls out of step as we walk beneath the raised swords. I’d laugh but I have to maintain the regal composure of the princess, thus I limit my amusement to a sneer. All of this magnetron show, confronting him with the new rival kingdom, must unsettle the prince: But for a Samos, the more metal is the better, however threatening we seem. Blades are as natural to us as eating.

I wish I could walk quicker but I know what’s expected of me, who’s done these performances my whole life. The rhythm is ingrained into my pulse. Even when my excitement grows the closer I move to Elane. Her smile, still small in the distance, is warmer than the sunlight. The light tickles my skin because Elane plays with it, until a beam crosses my face directly. This jester. I can’t avoid blinking and she winks at me.

She’s so beautiful that my lips twist into a smile and I forget the prince next to me. Elane wears loose black linen with a few golden decorations, the dark fabric a contrast to her otherwise glowing appearance. Her skin is tanned golden and her hair is pinned up - making me long to let it fall down again – while her crown of gold, silver and diamondglass sets it alight and creates little rainbows around her.

“The princesses of the Rift!” the steward next to her, Cristoph Samos, calls out and the feeling of being home overwhelms me.

* * *

**The compulsory protocols**  wash over me easily when Elane is with me. I almost forgot this feeling in my former desperation but once we’re together, my fears shrink. We are the princesses of a new kingdom and we are going to rule. Whatever Tiberias or my father commands, we can’t be separated.

Elane and I escape to my room before the next round of welcoming festivities begins. Basking in the sunlight, she lays on my bed, her hair spread out on the white sheets is all fire, copper, wine and garnets.

“You’re always lounging, Elane,” I say to her.

“And you can never sit down, Eve,” she retorts. “Come to me,” she beckons, “you look terribly exhausted.”

“You’re rudely frank.” I sit down and her fingers travel over my hand. I sigh. “It’s true, I worked out for two hours before the plane left. I … might’ve trained too hard in the last month in general.”

“Eve.” My name from her mouth feels like a caress. I lie down next to her and, suddenly weary from its weight, I let my metal dress melt away and flow to the floor.

Elane stares at me with wide eyes. “That was awesome, my love.”

“Thank you.” I have to grin but my eyes are already closed. Elane kisses my brow, the tips of her hair tickling my cheeks.

“Welcome home, my beloved princess,” she whispers.

* * *

**The princesses of**  the Rift are admired at Ridge House court and its town. The welcoming banquet has already shown how popular Elane has become, as she’s been at the Nortan court. Her easy chatting isn’t my way but as I watch her interact and notice the different way the subjects behave towards her, the truth emerges. Yesterday I was happy to lose my stress of the past weeks in Elane’s arms but the memory remains, the marriage to Tiberias still looms over me.

It wasn’t like that for Elane. She had time to practically rule the Rift in her fashion, without Mother and Father directing her every step. The idea they will soon enough terrifies me. Elane’s sworn to me she hasn’t even slept in one bed with Tolly so far and they don’t intend to for a while but how long before my parents will demand they do, to have their grandchildren and play in their schemes, as they expect of me?

“… I hope the queen dowager has brought supplies with her,” Elane says while we walk through the town. “Our kingdom … goes well enough, but it doesn’t exactly thrive. The trade died down and literally everything is very new …”

I snicker. “What a good queen you make!”

She postures immediately. “I do, and you should only address me as such.”

“As what?” After another laugh and a look around, I kiss her cheek. She’s less hesitant and kisses me back on the mouth.

“No, seriously,” she continues later. “I’m worried. We have to keep an eye on the Reds, or our country will shatter. They need to feel safe, and I as good as stopped the newsfeeds to the techies.” She sighs. “Apart from your video, of course. That one was gold, and it’s better to work with that Guard.”

I tilt my head in doubt.

“Surprised? As Tiberias said, these are times of change and we have to change with them, or we’ll lose everything. But tell me, Eve, what does Tiberias  _do_  actually?”

* * *

**Indeed, what is**  my esteemed betrothed doing, besides brooding? The following week, he sulks at dinners, stays silent in meetings, and sticks to himself while training – when he even shows up. He doesn’t try to bond and be friendly as he was just a year ago and at night, he turns up the volume of a music maker.

“At least he likes some kind of metal,” Mother purred yesterday, about the noise he listens to. “That’s a beginning. Eve, why don’t you show him around, introduce him to the animals?”

Mother doesn’t change, her words are always both command and encouragement I must act on. I have to search for him for half an hour before I find him reclining on a patch of grass and to my rejoice, he startles when he hears me on the gravel path.

He sits up annoyingly slow. Scowling, he asks, “don’t the metal clothes all the time drag you down once in a while?”

I snort, stopping myself from biting my lip. “Says the man who’s been moping for a year now and tortures us all with that mu –, sorry, noise-pollution.”

He crosses his arms, scowling meaner. “So what? I’ve never seen you not sneering, whether you’re haughty or disgruntled.”

“Ahaha mumumu.” A laugh as fake as this betrothal. “Oh, I’m hardly a paragon of discontendedness, hisses and glares. I have fond memories of your Red commander.” I pause. “Not.”

Tiberias gets up, about to walk past me without a further glance. I call after him, “are you finally ready for a tour of the Ridge House, your – “

He turns, I stumble into him. “She has every reason to despise you. Her – she and Shade Barrow were in love, so maybe you should stop joking.” He tries to look intimidating but I hardly know anyone who doesn’t. I give nothing away so our gazes fix each other in place.

“Will you come with me?” I ask again, oozing politeness.

“Where?” It’s more a waiver than a word.

I tilt my head, returning to my assigned text. “Everyone likes animals, don’t they? I think you need a distraction, your Highness.” He shows no reaction to the wrong title although his grandmother insists we address him as his majesty. Maybe  _majesty_  would be more of a jab.

Instead he shrugs, still displaying his informal slouchiness but he comes along. Apparently, he likes the animals, unlike me who’s learned to fear them. I have to suppress this conditioning, reminding myself there’re many new beasts here who Mother’s allied relatives have brought upon arriving here, animals who aren’t her familiars. On the other hand, at least I know what Mother’s pets are up to.

Tiberias laughs at the lizards jumping and climbing spryly.

“You’re that one,” I say and point to the fire salamander.

He frowns, as I intended. “It’s so small – “

“Any complexes about size, your Highness?” I stare him dead in the eyes, no muscle in my face moving while he’s gasping.

“And over there, that raven’s Maven,” I go on.  "Annoying, screeching, too clever for his own good and“ – a dramatic pause – “always wearing black.”

This time, he can’t decide if he allowed to laugh - though he obviously wants to. He’s adamant to push down any enthusiasm, but I’m in a run. I drag him farther, making the wildest and most accurate animal comparisons. “Mother has no feeling for canines,” I explain while we’re at the wolf. “So, it only sits idly in its cage though Mother desperately wanted this noble beast. It reminds me of Princess Iris.”

“Ah, the que – ? I mean, yes, the princess, right,” Tiberias corrects himself as I glare at him.

I nod to him in approval. “The cats are more to her liking. You see the tiger over there?” I crack a smile. “Isn’t it uncannily resembling the Red commander?”

“Why, does it have a cub?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” he says. “Are you done? Or have you found Mare’s animal form too?”

“Of course,” I say sweetly. “An obvious choice, I think of the pony I rode as a child.”

He storms off in a rage, I run after him. “If all you can do is being mean, I don’t see a point in talking to you!” he shouts at me.

“So you’ll just remain lazy? How is that better? Mare Barrow would be so disappointed to see you’re giving up your claims of unifying and equality!”

He turns, literally fuming. “I don’t have to hear that from the good daughter who follows every order of her parents to its brutal letter and frequently attacked Mare on mere whims!”

I slap him.

“How unusual of you to use your own hands,” he hisses. “I expected a spike in my heart.”

“Why should I, you and I feel those spikes all the time,” I whisper, avoiding his face for the first time.

“But  _you_  don’t have to,” he replies, and silence ensues, stressing the insurmountable chasm between us.

“Maybe we should re-evaluate our positions,” I say eventually. “Elane’s got an invitation to her cousin’s wedding in Archeon, and wouldn’t you love to crash it and finish … _this_  … for good?”

He says nothing at first. “Maybe we should re-evaluate our whole lives, princess.” He leaves, and this time, I don’t follow.

The next day, he presents his battle plans to Father and their advisors. They discuss for the rest of the week before they make a decision: While Maven is rumoured to return to his capital, we’re about to attack.

* * *

**_A/N 2:_ ** _I really need a further fic on this where Cal tells his terrible puns and Eve makes gay jokes._

 


	11. Cassandra

**_A/N:_ ** _Finally, the long-awaited (by me) wedding chapter. If you don’t like my OCs, skip the first half. Then Maven appears, what rare occasion ;-)_

**Cassandra POV**

**The crown weighs**  heavy on my head although it’s made only of sakura twigs and blossoms, the pale pink petals matching the light shade of my silk dress.

All guests of my brother Hagen Eagrie’s wedding with Larissa Welle wear flower crowns today. The bride’s grown and shaped them herself, and put them on every brow, having chosen them carefully to match the guests’ clothing and preferences. More flowers wind along the walls and corners of the Eagries’ large mansion in Archeon, other bouquets are carefully arranged in numerous vases placed on pillars.

The smell should be overwhelming but it isn’t. Lari’s too great a mistress of her greenwarden ability, so I suppose she created the flowers especially not to have a strong odour. Yet their perfume is ever-present – and pleasant, at least to me. The smell changes slightly the closer I move to the garden, probably intentionally as well. Maybe a metaphor for the seasons; I haven’t asked Lari yet. It’s another artwork among the many she designed for her wedding to be impressive and unique. As the flowers’ smell is contributed to her groom: Since Hagen is unable to see the decorations, Lari made it possible to sense them in other ways.

Just makes me wonder what the food will be like.

I gather my skirt in my hand as I descend the stairs to the reception hall. The dress is unusual to me, hence I’m most likely lifting it too high. The gown widens along my thighs but it’s tight otherwise, urging me to ponder how to fight in it. I chide myself for the thought but it’s less for paranoia than for the wish to protect this dress from damage that I make such considerations. It becomes me marvellously. Short, frilly sleeves, a low cleavage, the tightness accentuating both my curves and my muscles while enabling me to dance. The seams have a more intense colour, a vibrant fuchsia; it’s the same shade I chose for my lipstick and eyeliner. Sakura are embroidered on the skirt, following the colour pattern of pale pink, fuchsia, and every shade in between as the yarns fade from intense into pastel.

All in all, it’s simple but the most beautiful gown I’ve ever worn.

I catch a glimpse of someone standing at the foot the stairs and I almost stumble when I notice it’s Sorata. He smirks at my efforts to remain ladylike. He’s as much a gentleman in his swallow-tailed coat, despite being a Red. What the right clothing can do for you – how many “noble” guests will be confused by his presence, and rightly so. He’s better than them and deserves to be my partner at the wedding party. And more. He’s dressed to match my outfit. Where I carry a crown of pink cherry blossoms, he wears white ones while his cravat and pocket square show pink embroidery. It’s obvious for anyone looking close enough that we are … together.

He bows and kisses my hand, slightly more serious. I curtsey in response and fail, my knees pointing in the wrong directions. He laughs until he coughs. “Unused to formalities, Cassie?”

“Tsk.” But I giggle as well. “I’ll have to train before the queen arrives.”

“I suppose she values your other skills more,” he says. “But I am content as long as I receive your first dance.”

“I promise.” He pulls me close for a faint kiss, then guides me down the corridor to the garden where the ceremony will take place. There’s no one else, so I’m wondering if we’re late and the guests have already arrived, with only the bride and groom to show up.

“Are you ready for a grand entrance?” I ask.

He sighs. “Whenever else will we have the chance – “ he trails off and stops walking, turning us sideways to another pillar in an oriel.

It displays a wreath for a guest, braided from poppies and cornflowers. Simple plants, but their orange and blue colours are as brilliant as fire.

“ _That’s hers_ ,” I breathe. “Firebird’s. Lacey’s.”

He nods. We stare at the crown dedicated to my absent cousin, either a hostage or a collaborator of the Scarlet Guard, depending on the perspective. Sorata leans against me, his hand skimming my neck as he whispers in my ear. “You’ve heard from her?”

“Only that she’s alive. And occupied, whatever that means.”

He inclines his head and kisses my cheek. “They trust me more,” he says quietly. “The king is rumoured to return here soon, and Archeon might become a target again.”

He draws away, smiling like he didn’t talk treason a second ago. “Excited for the ceremony, madam?”

“Of course I am, Mr. Ives.” And I mean it. At least Lari and Hagen will have  _this_  before all hell will break loose.

* * *

**Indeed, the garden**  is already filled with guests seated on filigree chairs. Ribbons fixed on poles create the illusion of a room and a roof on the meadow-like green although breezes and sunbeams filter through. We have a magnificent weather for September and the approaching autumn is only announced by the golden and reddening foliage on the trees farther off. My family stands at the front and we part to join them, each of us going along one outer side of the congregation; the middle aisle is reserved for the bridal couple.

I hug my oldest brother Roman with a grin before I take my position. I haven’t seen him for a month. Now he and I stand on the left side while Mother’s on the right, with Sorata behind her. Her assigned companion has still to arrive. She doesn’t wear a suit or other casual clothes today, it’s like she wants to dress as rich and festive as the other nobles for once: She’s swathed in black tulle as voluminous as a black cloud. I’ve helped her to pin up her yellow hair in an elaborate fashion but our efforts are barely visible beneath her wreath of white lilies with small black markings.

Roman wears white asters and I notice that every small movement of his is as graceful as ever, a generous inheritance from his Iral grandmother. But even formally dressed in a suit with a necktie, he manages to look like a punk, a rocker with electrum jewellery gleaming on his ears, hands and chest, and the tattoos engraved on the brown skin of his neck and left hand. His black hair stands up in every direction like he just walked through a storm and his white shirt hangs over his slacks.

But that’s exactly his charm. Despite his height, he resembles his long-dead father a lot. He and Hagen share his colouring with brown skin and black hair but Roman has Mother’s dark eyes and inherited his father’s handsome, hawkish features as well. And his ability of course, the Eagrie foresight.

Yet all three of us siblings are Mother’s children and that shows. She’s a person who always gets what she wants and we adapted the confidence from her. Roman with his seer ability never makes a wrong move; be it in battle, life or art. I always fight for the win, dismissing the chance of losing to begin with. While Mother has never wanted Hagen to doubt himself for his disability and made him believe in what he can do. Although wandering through people’s dreams in his sleep is generally considered as a freak ability, he’s come to live both in aethereal dreams and in the flesh to his capacity. All the more a reason for Mother to be happy and proud of him today.

* * *

**When the queen**  arrives at last, the whole congregation rises and bows or curtseys and I manage to lift my skirt almost exactly to the right level. I raise my eyes just in time to catch Sorata winking at me. Queen Iris walks around the seats like we did, with her ambassador Isabella and the bodyguard Richard Rhambos behind her. Richard serves in my place yet as he’s related to Hagen as well, I wonder if he might’ve wished to attend too.

Iris takes the place next to Mother. She curtseys again, kisses the queen’s hand and reaches for the wreath Lari prepared for the queen – blue-violet iris flowers, an obvious choice for the queen’s name. Yet Iris smirks courtly upon receiving another crown while Mother says something in the Lakelands tongue, eager to show off her knowledge and skills. The queen’s smile widens a bit and I wander if Mother said something funny or if Iris’s just delighted to hear her mother tongue. Naturally, her gown stands out even among the nobility. Dark blue flowery lace is interwoven with silver threads and beads. It’s another dress with a long skirt on the backside but an open front, turned into a kind of catsuit as her legs are dressed in the same rich fabric ending over her sparkling pumps.

The congregation rises. Bride and groom enter together, arm in arm. They walk down the carefully prepared aisle of rich, dark soil. Lari’s gown has no train, nor does she wear a veil or a flower crown herself. Instead she displays fanciful, butterfly-like eye-makeup and flowers woven into her dark brown hair which falls down her back. Following an old tradition, her bridal gown is white, with embroideries in the green and gold of her house along with numerous blossoms placed on it in a detailed pattern. She’s barefoot and in place of a train, buds of daisies, poppies, asters, cornflowers, chamomiles, wild roses and many more arise as she goes down the aisle.

My brother looks dashing besides her - even though she grabs all attention. Larissa’s chosen him a laurel crown with an elaborate black coat, vest and white shirt as usual, velvet and frilly in the same style that his grandfather, Julius Eagrie, prefers. Instead of a big tie or a black cravat with lace in the Eagrie colours, Hagen’s necktie is violet, with an interwoven iridescent pattern in purple and fuchsia. “Hagen needs a more special colour,” Lari told me in the dressing room when my hand glided over the silk tie. “Like you do.” Then she winked at me, who’s not bound no a house colour for my lack of a high house.

With cheers, the guests take their places again as the ceremony begins and the queen herself gives her blessing to the union.

* * *

**Larissa’s planned and**  arranged every little part of her wedding, and she’s made it to perfection; without ever losing her nerves or her smile. The glass-ceilinged hall the dinner and dances are to take place in is just another demonstration of rare and impressing botany combined for the utmost effect. Lari tries to personify life and beauty and lets everyone forget in what times we live in, as if not so many of us have lost someone. But still. She was never meant to be a warrior or a queen as that is her cousin Heron’s due, the house lord’s daughter. The girl is here as well and forcing a smile, maybe perturbed that two Silvers marry for love and not for prestige. Yet in ability, Larissa excels nonetheless, and she might be able to grow food for the whole capital on a field the size of the gym with the right fertilizers. She knows all about her vast collection of seeds for crops, flowers and other plants. She showed one of those produces to me mere two days ago, when we partied in anticipation of the wedding in one of the few remaining bars in Archeon.

“Usually, I don’t smoke,” I reminded her.

“But I strongly recommend this one,” Lari answered smirking. I had one draw and it was a sensational experience though I’m uncertain whether I want to repeat it. Drugs unsettle me.

When the dancefloor is opened, I give the first waltz to Sorata, as I promised. We’re swaying among the Silver nobles, most of them relatives or Maven and Iris’s favourite allies. Most of them don’t know what to make of us, or of this festivity as a whole. A Red dances amid them with me, the bastard commoner girl, while my mother, half outsider by association, half trusted advisor to their majesties, doesn’t bat an eye. The groom is a blind man with a freak ability yet the queen herself attends and married him to his bride. Thus, the nobles put on their frozen smiles and clap when appropriate, lest they are deemed second-guessing their rulers.

They might as well boil and drown in their pretends and prejudices. In the end, no one has forgotten they – Maven – have already lost against the Scarlet Guard and the Rift. Even though a part of me is afraid. For my family and the friends I’ve found. What will war and change do to these people, this place? But the change can’t be stopped either way, and possibly, it’ll mean I can dance with Sorata as often and openly as we want, without him fearing the discovery of his ability or any brutal whim of Silvers.

The music stops and we part like all dancing couples. He smiles and asks, “one more?”

“I’d be delighted.”

* * *

**Roman almost runs** into me after four rounds. “Untypical for you,” I chastise him.

“But I wanted to surprise  _you_ ,” he retorts. “May I dance with you for once, dear sister?”  

“Is it that special piece of music?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“It is.”

Grinning, I take his hands as  _Danse Macabre_  begins to play. We haven’t practised recently, but we danced to this music often enough, as a mean of training and to show off our abilities combined. We forgo the lifting steps yet draw attention anyway. “The ladies are staring at the rare sight of you, Roman,” I say panting, “Still not interested in marriage and children?”

He only laughs in response.

“Nor any new love in sight?” I inquire further.

“Ah no, Cassie. I’m a happy bachelor.” But he sighs. “The time with Reuben still carries fond memories.” He seems slightly melancholic. Maybe because I can see Reuben Osanos, his boyfriend for two years, standing at the edge of the dancefloor. They broke up eight months ago.

* * *

**Later on, we**  lounge on a chaise longue when Lari jumps up out of a sudden, pulling me up with her, only to lower into a curtsey. Tired from feasting, my attention isn’t as perfect as usual, but I notice our high guest quickly enough. The king – awfully underdressed in his ragged uniform – is walking along the central aisle of the hall and the queen goes to him in greeting while the rest of wedding congregation displays their reverence.

Half of us must be laughing under their breaths. King Maven, returning to Archeon’s court after months of absence, crashes a wedding as if to make up for the ruination of his own. Iris plays along, her smile showing more amusement than it should from mere politeness.

Lari is having none of it. When she rises from her curtsey, she takes my brother’s arm and together, they go to meet the monarchs, me following behind.

“We are most honoured by your presence at our wedding, Your Majesties,” Hagen says and Lari beams in her characteristic way, so enticing that Maven bows to her and kisses her hand.

My new sister-in-law is too much of a perfectionist to let her wedding get crashed.  _She’s_  the queen of this party, ruling over small-talk, aesthetics and good taste. Yet I muse why she doesn’t offer him a left-over laurel crown so he doesn’t stand out so much. In the end, even Mother abstains from joining the little group around the royals, probably avoiding to broach the sinister topics of her double play with both Maven and her Rift-allied Haven relations. She’s even invited cousin Elane, but the Rift’s princess hasn’t appeared.

Larissa guides us back to the corner from before, now including the royal party and thus clearly intending us to sit down in a more formal way. In a circle, Iris and Maven sit next to each other, I’m at Iris’s, Larissa’s at Maven’s other side, with Hagen between us. Iris frowns at the sight of Larissa’s special “cigarettes”, but she remains silent about them, picking one of her fancy little juices while Larissa and Maven talk, soon switching to politics.

“… so, if you don’t mind to postpone your honeymoon, my lady, would you serve Norta with your ability?” Maven asks suggestively. As always. He’d make a good merchant, talented at selling you everything. But he is a king and this takes it to a whole new level. Lari keeps on smiling and chatting but she holds Hagen’s hand tightly.

“I do not want to urge and hurry you, my lady, but we should start quickly with growing more crops, which would be greatly helped by your skills,” he continues.

“I am proud to be recognized by Your Majesty,” Lari replies. “I will help you gladly.”

Iris rolls her eyes at her exaggerated politeness but she’s distracted by a new glass of juice put before her. I’m startled to see Sorata serving her and Maven while he’s already dashing off. It’s one of his games to play pretend with the highest Silvers, now that he’s again forced to hide his importance and our closeness. And consequently, Maven doesn’t even notice the Newblood spy who’s able to steal his ability with a touch. Instead he asks Iris about her juice.

She shrugs. “It’s good, try it.”

“It’s … exotic.”

It delivers the perfect prompt for Lari to describe her efforts again, having grown the juices’ rare fruits especially for the queen – upon my suggestion as the queen never drinks alcohol. “I’m sure you’re the best to produce food for Norta, my lady,” Maven compliments her. “Yet, the season demands …”

“The season does not matter to me, Your Majesty. Earth, water, seeds and some fertilizers are enough.”

“But,” Iris wonders, “how can you reap the whole of your fast-growing crops? My lady?”

“My queen, we have enough field workers with the choke front disbanded,” Maven says.

“We do not even need many field workers, Your Majesties,” Lari informs them. “The plants I think of are easily reaped with machines.”

“Provided by our loyal techies?” inquires Hagen, unsettling Maven, but the king nods after a second. Iris gives him a shove.

“Indeed, my lord,” Maven adds, though still befuddled.

Larissa laughs. “How unfortunate the traitor prince only saw engineering as a hobby,” she says, the mention of Tiberias changing the mood immediately. Lari enjoys to play with the fire of the banished royal’s reputation and laughs again. “But, of course he did, since when has he ever been useful?”

Her mocking afterthought might “prove” her loyalty but the playfulness has left our group. Intentionally, I suspect. While the conversation becomes awkward, Larissa and Hagen kiss and cuddle like the newly-wed bride and groom they are, as if to remind everyone of the reason for this event.

The two monarchs decide to leave soon after. Iris beckons me to follow them as if I’m only here as their bodyguard. I don’t protest, sparing myself for more important battles. So I merely watch Iris and Maven walking out of the hall with grand ceremony, hand in hand like this procedure lies in the blood of both of them, the one thing bonding them together more than everything else.

* * *

**“Seasons?“ Iris blurts** out, back in their office. She stands with her arms crossed and faces the windows.

The king leans back in his chair, as comfortable as possible in a room inlaid with silent stone. He shrugs. “Autumn is approaching. It’s better to have matters done before winter.”

“Neither my soldiers, nor you and I, can be bothered by cold weather,” Iris insists. But whatever her point is supposed to be, it makes Maven tense. He turns his chair and stares at his wife. She stares back but no words fall for a minute.

The king clears his throat. “You don’t need to be worried about warfare and terrible living conditions?” asks he.

Iris bites her lip. Then sighs. Finally, the corners of her mouth twitch. “If you put it like that – no. I … would be worried.”

His jaw drops. He mutters something and gestures, but stops himself before his fist hits his desk. Although I can smell smoke.

The queen glares.

“I am sorry, Iris,” Maven replies. “I apologize, I haven’t thought it would come so far.”

“But it has,” she insists and while I piece together the meaning behind their polite niceties, I don’t want to believe it, even as I bring back to mind what she told me two months ago.  _“We have to think of the future, of House Calore, of Norta, and - our alliance.”_

I don’t want to be here at all. I want to fall into a hole and die.

But Iris remembers my presence. She comes to me, smiling, but it is her queenly face. “You have sworn to protect me, Captain Griffey,” she proclaims. “Now swear to protect the heir as well.” She says it so formally, neutral and regally, as if this is just a usual matter of state, not her own child.

Yet I curtsey once more in my beautiful gown and do as she commands, pushing away my own thoughts.

Maven rises at the same moment as I. “As this was your plan, my queen,” he utters, “I leave it to you to make announcements when you see fit.”

“I am grateful for your trust,” she replies sarcastically when he’s already on his way to the door. Then he stops and looks at me.

“You’re dismissed for the night, Captain. There’re enough sentinels in the palace.”

Obviously, he thinks if one has to leave, it should be me, not him. I curtsey again but walk away slowly, curiousity taking the better of me.

I glimpse Iris approaching her husband and patting his shoulder and chest.” We both know how it is to walk on determined paths,” she reminds him. “We choose them still.”

I hear his answer just before I close the door. “I thought I could change them. The monarchy. Everything. I really did … believe …”

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _If you read my other fics, or chapter 4 of this one, you would’ve been warned ^^°_

 


	12. Gisa

**Gisa POV**

**Cameron looks cute**  with her hair open, positively pretty, and I tell her so. She laughs, slightly embarrassed but also … something else. She lowers her eyes to face me, excitingly slow. She smirks after a breathless second and I do the same, hoping to convey the message, “I like you,” without voicing it.

Maybe I should. Clear words can be such a relief. But I just lay my hand over hers and the way she avoids glancing at them although she’s obviously touched in more than one way says a lot. Rejoice prickles inside of me.

“Though it gets annoying after a few days,” Cameron says, tugging at a curl. “Especially when, you know … “ She sighs deeply.

My mood drops from soaring to crawling. Her smile vanishes and familiar feelings wash over us; finality for her, dread for me. She’ll go back to fighting, like too many of my family.

“Hey. Gisa,” she nudges me and I startle. Her expression softens again. “I’m not – well. They asked us who’d go to New Town and I volunteered. I can see my parents again and do something for the other techies.”

I step away, my eyes turned to the ground. I shouldn’t sulk like this, and when Cameron touches my shoulder, I feel even more embarrassed and selfish.

“I’m sorry to leave you alone again, so soon after,” Cameron says. I nod. Of course, she does as she must.

“Good luck,” I wish her; she hesitates to reply. I don’t wait and simply hug her. She’s surprised but embraces me back after a second. “You’ll come back,” I demand.

“For sure,” she whispers into my hair. “You got to meet my family after all.”

Heat rises in my cheeks, warring with suppressed tears. “Oh,” I say, “oh.”

Cameron clears her throat, it has been a slip. I look up into her face. “I didn’t know we’ve come that far already,” I say. “But I’m glad?”

Her smile emerges slowly but it’s certainly beaming. “Me too. And you know, Rafe comes with me, because an electricon in New Town? Assured to create a mess.”

I pull away a bit, rise to my toes, and kiss her cheek. “Or sure to bring you a quick victory.”

“Right,” she agrees, then hugs me again.

* * *

**As if the**  general mood on the base hasn’t been serious enough, the returnees from Corvium and the – hopefully decisive – battles looming ahead turn it positively grave. Everyone trains harder, most of all Mare. Not only her ability but her body as well, and she even eats more to build more muscles. Tramy, Bree and Diana advise her on this, as they occupy each other with more planning and discussions. Meanwhile I stick to Kilorn, Cameron, and her brother Morrey. Sometimes I accompany Lacey again, but with Diana’s return, her restrictions seem to have lessened, allowing her to become more involved. Tramy doesn’t bring her to our house anymore but doesn’t meet her less often as far as I notice. He’s as in love as before, if I interpret his glances and expressions right. And our eyes meet frequently when the family sits together.

Each of us copes in their own ways. In the evenings, Diana visits with Clara when she has the time. Dad enters Bree’s and Mare’s war talks while he avoids  _the certain royal topic_  carefully. Everyone does this around Mare, maybe apart from Mom, Kilorn and Diana in more private conversations. Thus, Mom fusses on the whole family, similar to before, Dad supports her, Bree and Tramy tell stories, Mare tries to fit in and I keep my hands busy and watch; taking Kilorn’s advice to crack jokes to lighten the mood, although not with as savage ones as his.

I live well with the illusion, it’s helpful, and nice, to feel joy and relatedness every now and then. Although I can’t look at Clara without thinking that Shade’s not here to dote on her with pride or that Mare’s lost any light-heartedness she ever had.

* * *

**Every night I**  expect her to approach me, to hug me, to start crying. But she doesn’t. She’d learned to sleep alone, she claimed the first night after her return. I offered to listen to and help her, in awkward words, which I repeat sometimes – but I don’t ask her about it. I never know what to do besides stating my readiness.

Until Mare starts to talk by herself while I’ve no idea what’s made the difference. I can’t ponder on that. “The worst thing,” she begins, “is that I know Tiberias truly loves me. Yet he did  _that_ , and it’s like he never really knew me. While the same applies to me, doesn’t it? I believed he wouldn’t go back to his throne, so did  _I_  ever fully know  _him_?”

The words fill our room with a gloomy heaviness, so my lack of an answer doesn’t become disturbing. Even though I feel like I have to say something to comfort her, I can only move closer to her, careful and inch by inch, until she leans against me, with a pillow in her arms.

“I hate the lies, the illusions,” she mumbles. “But I have to go on with them, until … “

“You don’t have to,” I blurt out; fortunately, Mare isn’t bothered. She inclines her head but doesn’t agree. Of course not.

“Maybe you should talk to Kilorn again, because I’m so bad at comforting you,” I say.

It startles her. “Gisa, you said nothing wrong!”

I wave off. “Believe me, he’s a true master, compared to me. But you know that, don’t you? I tried so often to … provoke him into a, umm …” Mare stares at me curiously. “But well, he never exploited the situation – to my chagrin.”

Mare sneers. “I’d hope so, anything else would’ve made him a scoundrel.”

“Oh, he’d never. Not that I care anymore … “ I sigh.

“You don’t?” The corners of her mouth twitch. What luck.

“No, as I … might like someone else now,” I tell her, suddenly eager to lift the secret.

“Do I know – “

“Her? Yes, it’s Cameron.” Her amusement, built up so carefully, dims for a moment.

“She’ll go to her family soon, to stir unrest in New Town,” she explains like I don’t know this already.

“For sure.” I shrug. “And Rafe goes with her.”

“Then I’ll be the only eletricon here.” Mare looks away. “And sooner or later, I’ll leave as well.”

I take a sharp breath. “When?”

She shrugs, I wait. “Difficult to say. ‘Timing is essential,’ Farley claims all the time” She turns it into a silly impersonation but she’s never been good at telling jokes. I laugh anyway. 

* * *

**The next days**  are stressful and busy, hardly offering a calm time before the storm. While Cameron, Rafe and a handful more Newbloods and operatives develop a course of action for New Town, another regiment prepares to accompany Volo Samos on his campaign against the Lakelands. Unlike the usual skirmishes, forages and sparring fights, this hits me harder and unforeseen, reminding me of the war that’s already come. I start to pester Diana about it, to reassure myself through information. It unsettles her at first, she hesitates to talk about it. Although neither mission is a secret here. For some reasons, she agreed to the Samos cooperation quickly, and it’s only volunteers who are sent to the Rift. They’re mostly Lakelanders, with her father among them.

“So, what do you think about the book?” I add one time.

She frowns as she figures out my meaning. What a terrible operative I’d make. Despite my initial resolve, I’ve procrastinated asking her about the old logbook from Monfort eternally. I don’t believe Lacey hid it from her. But thousands of Silvers killed on purpose by the spreading diseases is disturbing to imagine. Was that a good deed? Or wrong? How would a Silver like Lacey judge this –

Diana hushes me before I explain myself in the middle of the street. “Lacey Ventos is a good operative,” she says. “Well-connected, quite committed.”  _You needn’t doubt her_ , she leaves unsaid. As well as,  _unlike others_.

“Her friends at Maven’s court are a main asset for us, bleeding intelligence to us even the twins can’t find.” Diana chews on her lips as if this intelligence is something gnawing on her. “Gisa,” she adds, “this book that you two found is very valuable. Just wish we could use its information on greater scale…”

“Diana?” I tilt my head in surprise.

“Well, we won’t do the same thing, of course. But we can compare the political developments in Monfort and project them on Norta and work out whether Monfort tells us everything. By now I’m almost certain the current Monfort government had nothing to do with this. It was more than twenty years ago. For example, Davidson was still in Norta at the time it happened.”

“And do you trust him?” I ask.

She cocks her head. “What do you want to know about him?”

“Just curious. You’re usually relying on yourself the most.”

She cackles. “You aren’t wrong,” she admits. “But difficult times demand difficult measures.”

* * *

**Cameron and I**  steal away the last evening before she leaves and I help her re-braiding her hair. A storm rages outside, the sky burning bright with jade and amethyst lightning. It’s Mare and Rafe calling forth that storm for a last time, because they’re stronger together. They turn the sky into a loud and feral beast that obeys them, reminding me and everyone else of the storms of war to come. In a moment when their lightning illuminates the room, Cameron and I share our first kiss.

* * *

**More weeks pass**  while Diana continues to wait for  _the right timing_. It frustrates Mare who trains harder still, until she commands the storms as well as the small electrical gadgets in our house. Sometimes I can feel her invisible current buzzing on my skin. Stupid static electricity. Yet the training leaves her too tired to do much else. She likes the distraction, since from what I’ve put together, her next battle will be alongside Cal – who she calls Tiberias now – probably against King Maven himself.

Diana leads several smaller missions and skirmishes in the meantime, sometimes with my brothers or Kilorn coming with her. Mom always scolds her when she comes back and Diana merely listens calmly, yet resolved. But I notice the letters she gives to Dad for safekeeping before she sets out every time. “They’re for Clara,” he tells me after I’ve asked for the fifth time.

The Piedmont fall arrives beautifully although hardly anyone can spare time to contemplate or admire it. Not even me, usually quickly entranced by rich colours. Nature is nothing compared to hearing from Cameron or the soldiers fighting in the Lakelands, or seeing my family remaining safe.

We’re together on the first anniversary of Shade’s death, with all of us in tears sooner or later. The sad date is followed by Clara’s half-birthday which we celebrate two days before Mare’s 19th one.

The two parties are needed as a goodbye, since the period of waiting finally ends. While Diana heads into her own direction with strong determination, Mare and the majority of the Newbloods and the Guard’s forces are called to enter a full-scale attack on Archeon.

 


	13. Mare

 

**Mare POV**

**Half a dozen**  maps are spread on Farley’s desk, some of them drawn by Guard members, all of them filled with annotations and battle plans. I’m supposed to be briefed about my orders for the next day, yet my eyes stray to the other maps, depicting the regions of Norta, the Lakelands, Piedmont and Monfort. A few weeks have passed since the colonel joined Volo Samos’s campaign against the Lakelands with a few hundred soldiers, their progress from Corvium to Detraeon’s outskirts drawn onto the map in thin black lines.

“Mare.” I look up, Farley’s back from changing Clara’s diapers. She points to the Archeon map. “Your role is to take over the eastern power plant; Ella and Tyton are in the north and south west,” she explains. “Estimated time for the blackout is 0800 but you’ll have to radio each other to coordinate the timing.” She pauses. I nod, yet she already goes on. “I suppose there’ll be room for deviations because of other assaults.”

“Can’t you finally be clear, Farley?” Her hesitation with details  _is_ getting annoying. “What other assaults? Who else is there? What will they do – what will you do?”

Her expression doesn’t waver but she chews on her lip. “We make utmost use of our teleporters,” she reports in a neutral, detached tone. “You’ll be brought to a safe house outside of the city before the teleporters will transfer you to your destination, with stays in other safe houses in between. They’ve done this for days, and our Silver allies are already in Archeon and preparing. The movements are necessary to hide the operations. The Lerolan faction and I have coordinated a double assault against Archeon’s infrastructure, while several chosen operatives – ”

“The Lerolan faction? You mean Tiberias.”

She frowns before she nods. “Yes, Calore. And Anabel Lerolan and her seconds. I’ve communicated with them the whole time.” She shrugs. “Would you have liked to … talk to Calore as well?”

I say nothing.

“Mare?”

“I don’t know, it’s just – it’s strange. You plan with him while I can’t bear – can’t know – if I even want to talk to him again.” I shake my head. “And what did your spies tell you about Maven?”

She takes a sharp breath to confirm my jab. I wave off. “I don’t want to know. You aren’t letting me kill him either way.”

“No,” she says, finally insistent. Then she sighs. “But I don’t have the right to stop you, not if retribution is what you crave.”

I lean over the desk, my hands pressed on the maps. I stare into her eyes, five seconds, ten seconds. She gives in and looks away. “I know my orders,” I mutter. “You gave them for a reason after all, so who am I to act against them?”

Her relief is audible. “Right,” she says, clearing her throat. “Thanks. Now, your flight goes at 0400, then you’ll deactivate electricity in the east, depending on the charge against Whitefire by a few chosen operatives.”

“I hope _Calore_ won’t act against his orders,” I say.

“Hopefully,” she agrees. But she’s too stressed to smile. Or too doubtful.

“In exchange for my trust,” I ask, “you might tell me where you’re going tonight?”

She ponders.

“Don’t tell me you just want to avoid all the teleporting?”

“What? No, I’ll – “ She’s interrupted by Clara’s new wailing. Farley dashes to her cot and picks her up. “I have to feed her,” she calls to me. I know it’s a dismissal but my curiosity remains.

* * *

**I don’t receive**  more of an answer when she brings Clara to us the same night. Farley is wholly occupied by Mom who either cuddles Clara or pesters and scolds Farley about her mission. They’ve had these talks before, but Mom is especially insisting tonight. We all know there’s more at stake than in the skirmishes before. Gisa huddles close to me and holds my hand, but she doesn’t speak. Kilorn’s on my other side, reminding me that I’ll have to protect him tomorrow. He’s in the team coming with me to the power plant. Strangely, it fees less like a burden than I assumed it would. His joking tone is full of trust in me and I’m determined to live up to it. I retire just when Farley’s about to leave with her team, giving Clara a last kiss and murmured goodbyes. Even Dad hugs her.

I’ve trained enough in the last days to get a few hours of sleep. Mom hardly allows me to go when it’s my turn, even though Kilorn and Tramy are coming as well. I promise her to return and she wishes me luck, her words encouraging me further. 

* * *

**Excitement and exhaustion**  fill me up during the flight, and I doze off again, waking a few minutes before the landing. I see Tramy talk to a Silver woman and go over my orders again, discussing them with Kilorn and the other members of my team. They show even more focus. The last moments on the plane pass in awkward but concentrated silence until we arrive just outside of Archeon.

Everything goes quickly there. Soldiers grab their guns, weapons and armour, even I take a vest and a knife while the teleporters already line up to take soldiers to their destinations, according to the coded cards they produce. The Newbloods appear tired and pale, unsurprising after they did this for days. But when Kilorn and I are snatched by a teleporter, an older man, the movement wakes a familiar nausea, a pain stinging me for a moment.

We can’t unpack anything and stay only for a couple of minutes before the next jump. Hectic rules the cold rooms we get to.

“If I counted right, this is the last safe house before the power plant,” Kilorn informs me. “We’ll stay until the assault begins.”

I nod. “Then waiting for news from Ella and Tyton.”

A heat wave passes behind my back. Although I tell myself it’s only a finally heated radiator, I turn around and can’t believe my eyes to see Tiberias, dressed in a weirdly mixed uniform of Scarlet Guard and Silver design, running between the groups of soldiers. I whisper his name and I don’t know whether he heard me or if someone’s pointed to me. Tiberias spins around.

And walks to me.

“Good to see you,” he says to both of us. Only that, and quite causally. Probably, he gives the same greeting to everyone here. Kilorn grimaces but shakes hands with Tiberias. The king-to-be offers the same to me and I outstretch my palm. Yet I throw myself against his chest and hug him, feeling his warm hands on my back through the fabric of my uniform. It lasts just for a second. We part, and he’s heading to another group. “Good luck,” he says and adds, “don’t be afraid, it’s intentional.” It should mean nothing but his tiny smile, a fracture in his general’s attitude, gives me hope.

I remember Farley’s words about the Silvers’ plans but Tiberias’s advice makes me wonder if it’ll be worse than I imagined.

Kilorn squeezes my hand while my eyes continue to follow Tiberias’s route through the cramped building. Finally, he lifts a hand and a teleporter jumps him away. Another officer shouts a countdown and at zero, after a second of dreadful silence, I hear the explosions. It’s not bombs alone; the earth begins to shake. It unsettles the whole room but the effect is small compared to what I can see with a short glimpse through a tiny window: Streets are breaking, bridges fall, buildings tumble. The Lerolan oblivions, spread all over the territory, attack the capital itself. The reactions set forth over a whole minute that feels eternal, the noise reverberating in my ears. Their explosions, together several bombs, destroy the stage Maven created for himself.

I’ve been told several minor attacks were started to warn and scare away the grunt of the civillian populace, leaving me to wonder how effective that was. Then Arezzo, one teleporter I know, takes me, Kilorn, and the rest of our team to the eastern power plant.

* * *

**The first thing**  I see, still dizzy from the jump, is a corpse. It freezes Kilorn more than me and I have to pull him away although I can feel my own shock as well. He quickly lets go of me and moves ahead, to my worry. But he’s learned more about this place than I did.

Luckily, the plant was already raided. Not so luckily, I don’t know if that reassures me, facing several killed operators while the Reds among them have been arrested. I stop our tracks after I notice the first halfway safe room.

“This one’s okay,” I call out. “I can do it from here.” I click on the radio, relief rushing through when I hear the voices of the other electricons, even though both of them sound as stressed as I am.

“Mare?” Ella asks through the white noise.

“Ready to turn off the city?” I say.

“Been ready for hours, Barrow,” Tyton replies, and I can imagine his sneer in my mind. “Going off in 20 s.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on nothing but the electricity roaming the place in turbines and generators, wires and conducts. I draw it the energy to me, into my body, just until the brink of keeping it contained into myself. It’s a tight fit, as I can’t keep sparks from jumping off my skin. Then I motion for my comrades to shut down the engines. I don’t have to see them pull the lever and clicking on the computers, my electrical sense is more accurate than my eyes. But no matter how much they researched before, they aren’t able to know enough to turn off all emergency bypasses – that is my task. I stop every electron from leaving the plant’s conduct to leave a considerable quarter of the city, as well as the place we’re in, in darkness.

I have to concentrate harder to stop any pulses, bypasses, and other devices in close vicinity, hearing several gasps of surprise. I can’t help everyone complaining about their flashlights though. A comrade guides me to the roof, explaining we need to observe from above. For once, I have to wonder if I couldn’t do the same thing in Whitefire itself, if I was there, to burn the palace down as Evangeline once asked me to. But this has to be enough for today. I glance at Kilorn behind me, wishing to feel his supporting hand on my back. I doubt I’m safe to be touched right now.

There was a discussion to cause an electromagnetic pulse in the city - we electricons could’ve dismantled all electronic devices in the capital in one go. But we didn’t have the time to train for this, nor was the action agreed on. “It’d affect our devices as well, Mare,” Farley told me. Thus, I’m merely standing on the edge of the roof and taking down every enemy military transport I see. The power plant is hardly in the centre of the capital but those hoping to escape the fights through a bypass will be disappointed.

Despite daybreak, dust limits my sight, raising my worry about the civilians again. But I have to keep focused on the task at hand. It’s exhausting and not as effective as if I was down in the streets but I made my promises – I would make it out alive. I’d return to my family. I won’t offer myself to Maven again.

But please, let me see his corpse at the end of the day.

* * *

**In the distance,**  I see the storms created by Ella and Tyton in blue and white. I haven’t called forth a storm myself, but I’m untouchable either way. Electricity buzzes and snaps around me and the metal on the plant’s roof. The voltage hums in the air and if the sight wasn’t warning enough, Kilorn and Ashley, another soldier, keep watch, shouting out to comrades and shooting our enemies. I feel safe with them protecting my back as I hurl lightning from the sky at those foes crossing the streets below me and deep inside, I’m relieved by the distance to Whitefire. Last year on this day, I was a prisoner inside its walls, now I see it crumble, with its demon king trapped inside while I stand above the city, shrouded in lightning and as exalted and powerful as a god. A part of me muses if he can see me from here, but most of all, I hope I’m not cursed to fall.

 


	14. Cassandra

**_A/N:_** _A chapter waiting to be posted for ages! This contains one of the first scenes I envisioned for_ Blood Curse _and I hope you’ll like it, despite being told by my OC ;-)_

_Dear anonym, you’ll meet your OC Hope Lerolan in this chapter. Thank you for allowing me to include her._

* * *

**Cassandra POV**

**I kneel on**  the floor of the queen’s temple when it begins. It starts as a subtle vibration, even noticeable in the marble stones. But when I open my eyes and turn my head to the outside and its booming noises, I see buildings falling in the distance.

“My queen,” I say quiet –, but urgently.

Iris doesn’t jump up like I do. She finishes her rituals, bowing respectfully to the icons. She walks to me with serene grace, no rush disturbing her regal demeanour. That doesn’t mean she’s unaware about what’s at stake. While I learned about the planned assaults for today from my Scarlet Guard connections, Iris has her own spies and intelligence. And with the foregoing attacks in the last days, it was only a matter of time. Not that Iris’s face betrays any unsettlement. She’s ever-calm, ever-unaffected but I know her to be as relentless as the sea. If Mare Barrow, the Lightning Girl, is the thunder, Queen Iris is the eye of the storm and I’m left to wonder what role she’ll take on today.

Of course I passed the news of Iris’s pregnancy to the Scarlet Guard, being a reliable spy. That information should be highly interesting, as the queen hasn’t made a public announcement although she begins to show, and only close-standing courtiers and curious servants know about the heir at the moment. Apart from the Lakelander royals, I suppose. Maybe the Guard’s awareness will work in Iris’s favour, I tell myself.

I follow the queen out of the temple doors and the cold November air hits me like needles in my skin. I retrieve my jacket. The temple is spaciously and openly built, but it’s warm in comparison, despite the Calores’ and Iris’s proclaimed resilience to the cold.

“Captain,” Iris stops in her tracks and looks at me over her shoulder. “Who – or what – did you pray to?”

I startle. Hesitate visibly. It shouldn’t matter what I say, not today. I could use one of my usual evasions and be done with it but Iris needs to think it costs me. So I can just as well tell the truth.

“My mother puts great faith in our ancestors,” I reply. “Or rather ancestresses. She researched them a lot and well, came to the conclusion they watch over us still. As in benevolent spirits or ghosts.” I shrug unceremoniously. Iris turns away and continues her way to the main palace, her long train dragging on the grass and getting wet. I must have disenthralled her, with my answer revealing nothing about my own faith. How I flout the enormous honour of accompanying the queen during her religious services – by not telling her that I prayed for the downfall of the monarchy as well as for my father, his wife and my little sister who live down in the city of Archeon.

“I wish both of us see our prayers answered,” the queen says once we reach the main building.

“I’d hope so, my Queen,” I agree with a bow, fully aware how unlikely that will be. 

* * *

**The security personnel**  doesn’t share their queen’s serenity and assurance. They fuss and dart about, stressed and shouting, clearly unsettled and unused to real attacks, and still shocked from the last palace attack during the royal wedding. No improvements are made when the lights go out. Already I hear whispers of the Lightning Girl. As far as I know, she isn’t going to come here but doesn’t say much about a woman like her. Confronted with the possibility of Mare Barrow in Whitefire in recent councils, the king showed no reaction, he rather froze. He agreed to the suggestion to install electricity-free luminous elements and that was that on his side.

We sentinels have discussed for a longer time, most of them still afraid of her. Inside, I’m smiling. Should be easy to turn chaos into disaster.

My rank as captain of the queen’s guard gives me only so much authority, I can order those positively beneath me in the chain of command while others will shrug off. But I’m used to this, the dismissal. It doesn’t stop me from sending people to the places I want them to be with the right dissembling. I run these halls like a thousand times before and nudge the confused sentinels and guards into directions where the rebels won’t attack or in such force they’ll certainly win.

That’s an easy task every Guard operative could perform. But I’m the queen of limbs, hitwoman and executioner, and born for treason. 

* * *

**Last night, Sorata**  listed those people the Guard wishes to see dispatched into the aether. With one exception, they are no surprises. Some kills demand more from me and pierce my heart, some don’t. I cleared my throat, asking whether I was really supposed to kill  _him_.

Sorata nodded. “You can get close enough and work quickly. But,” his fingers caressed my arm, “wait for another clearance. I’ll assure you tomorrow.”

* * *

**He almost stumbles** over me when I meet him as promised; I have to grab and catch him. “Skilled as ever,” Sorata mumbles. “Look what I have for you.”

He reaches out to offer me my halberd – rarely in use and mostly ornamental but deadly still. I take it and kiss the moon-shaped blade.

A tap on my shoulder. I spin to meet a brown-haired young woman; her light skin can’t hide she’s a Silver. “Rise red as the dawn,” she says quietly.

I mouth the same, glancing around us. She could’ve chosen another, less infamous code as introduction.

“The crown’s to fall,” she adds, confirming the most important kill order.

I nod. “I’ll get there soon.”

“Right,” the woman agrees. She has to be still a teenager, though. “We expect you in the tunnels in servant wing B at 1100.”

_The tunnels?_

Sorata moves closer, to give me a quick kiss. “Please take care of yourself,” he whispers in my ear. “Cassie, this is Hope Lerolan. She’s cleared the lost tunnels to Naercey once more, and the civilians are fleeing that way.”

Good. Very good to know. “You’re a Lerolan?” I muse aloud. “Have you been part of the at – “

She shakes her head. “I’d never, operative. I swore to never use my ability for violent acts again.”

“Admirable,” I mutter and pull away from Sorata, remembering her pacifism can’t be my way.

* * *

**I’ve made it**  a point of not watching the corridors and rooms I’m assigned to but now I have a more important task to perform. I’m approaching the royal apartments only to find Euphemia Eagrie, the new captain of the sentinels. I don’t know if I should be glad or aggrieved to see her. She’s keeping up a semblance of order, issuing her staff around. Of course she greets me before she faces me.

“I have to check the way to the royal bunkers,” I claim.

“30 minutes until the army arrives here” Euphemia tells me. “We’re better prepared to meet those terrorists this time.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I salute and move to get on my way. Then stop. “Euphie!”

My use of her pet name stuns her, reminding me of her private self I grew up with. An aunt of my brothers’. A good friend of my mother’s, one of the few of her in-law family she gets along with. Together, we drank tea and mocked the royal family and other high houses.

I gesture her to go to a side corridor as a rebel shows and she follows. But even a seer can’t evade two blows at once and creating such a situation is an easy feat for a telky like me. Her focus is on the rebel’s gun when I take a knife from its sheath to throw it and have it fly in a circle, charging with my halberd at the same time.

The rebel runs pasts us, not even noticing. My blade is buried in Euphie’s heart and all I have left to do is keeping her blood off my uniform and dragging her into an empty room. I shudder at her sight, but she was on the list of the Scarlet Guard. She wasn’t only the friendly aunt but a merciless gaoler as well, I tell myself. She always supported an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I shake my head and block the door as I leave.

It’s better to keep her death hidden to produce a confusion among the now leaderless sentinels. 

* * *

**At the first** chance, I slap Red blood on my uniform to hide possible traces of Silver blood. But several scattered Silver rebels should give me a reason for their presence although I evade them at all costs. I skirt their paths but open doors for them and clear their ways while remaining invisible to them. The detours drag on my schedule and I run faster, only to meet more of Maven’s soldiers.

I cut down the first two, my blade taking their lives like a Reaper’s scythe. I dive down to sweep foes of their feet while using shards to skewer them. There’s movement from behind and I switch my hold on the halberd so its other end spikes a soldier. I rise and spin in one fluid motion, pull their weapons out of my enemies’ reach and push stray bullets into their throats. I rush forward, on my way to kill a king.

This was pure carnage. I ignore the sentinels I knew as persons, some as rivals, some as comrades, a few as lovers. I’ve made a pledge to the Scarlet Guard I’d keep and I’ve always prided myself of not hesitating when it comes to deal the lethal strike. That’s why Maven chose me as his executioner in the first place and I haven’t cared that the High Houses know about my deeds, my reputation having been lost long before.

I prefer to be the bane of Silvers to be honest, if only I won’t have to kill Reds.

A silk gets in my way, my personal nemesis. I swing the halberd and grab my gun at the same time, hoping for the lucky chance that one weapon would hit the woman, but no. She dodges both, ducks beneath my lance and kicks my chest. I use a push of my ability to stay upright and counter with a punch myself. The blow with my gun in hand only grazes her while she sweeps me off my feet. I turn my lance and land a hit in her side. She grabs the shaft but I use her short moment of immobility to push a knife of mine into her belly.

She’s too nimble for a fatal blow but staggering nonetheless. Slow enough for me to finally shoot her.

I pant for an eye-blink. Then I stand up, assure myself of her death and go on.

* * *

**Only two guards**  remain in the corridor of royal apartments. Nymphs from the Lakelands.

“I’m here to escort their majesties to the royal bunker,” I call to them.

One of them, a man with black hair, nods. “We’ll follow, ma'am.”

“One of you shall be enough,” I object. “You see the trouble in the courtyard? The traitor Tiberias is here – I saw him myself,” I lie. “Your skills are demanded against him.”

The black-haired one’s partner jerks, like he can’t wait to face the exiled prince instead of just waiting for danger. “Stephane,” he urges, and the partner grinds his teeth.

“Ma'am,” Stephane asks me, “their majesties should move immediately in this case. The way to the bunker should be safe for now, as the lady ambassador is there already.”

The lady ambassador Isabelle, being a stoneskin – or a diamondskin as they’re called in the Lakelands – was better a part of the fights instead of sitting in the hide-out.

Stephane clears his throat. “Ma'am, I would -”

“Go fight the pretender as well?” I nod. “The sooner he’s gone, the better.” I don’t care about Tiberias. Either these sentinels leave or I’ll have to knock them out. But they get away all too easy. Stephane pats my arm.

“Protect the queen,” he insists.

“Sir.” I incline my head. “Good luck.”

* * *

**The door to**  the king’s rooms open with a thought of mine yet the presence of inlaid silent stone immediately creates a headache. I mumble, “your majesty,” as I walk into the room, noticing the king staring out of the windows, his back to me.

“You shouldn’t stand there so exposed,” I say and not even my inappropriate address and tone coax a reaction out of him. I glimpse at the window to the violet lightning in the distance. “Or do you wish Mare Barrow were calling forth a storm inside these walls instead of over there?”

He spins, finally facing me. Before he can say anything, I bundle my telekinesis to throw him against the wall. Migraine drills into my head. With a second surge, I pull off his sparker bracelets, moving them out of his reach. I have to swallow rising nausea, realizing there’s no chance to get this done bloodless by using my ability.

So I kick into his stomach and at his chin when noises at the side door reach me. I change the grip on my halberd, lift the blade up in the air and gather the swing to take off Maven’s head.

Then Iris enters the room, demanding my attention for the fraction of a second. Our eyes meet. I turn my head, focused on finishing the king at my mercy.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

My arms move down, the halberd’s blade describing a lethal downwards circle that never finds its target because I lose control of my muscles when my back is set on fire.

The weapon buries its point in the floor as I scream. I stumble aimlessly, hardly seeing the man in the door. Tiberias, the traitor prince, charging at  _me_.

A cold wave of water washes over me. It extinguishes the flames on my body and separates me from Tiberias but the hellish pain remains. I lose my stance and fall to the ground.

The worlds spins and blackens in turns.

Maven still leans against the wall. Tiberias looms over us, dressed in fire. Iris crouches half on, half behind the desk, surrounded by walls of water she pulls from the vases and aquariums brought into the apartment after her arrival. Each torch Tiberias throws at her is blocked by her shields, her arms moving as if in a dance to control her element. She sprays squirts to keep him away, her fountains flying like projectiles with enough pressure to cause bruises and quench all of his fire.

I know I have to get away and try to scramble but I can barely move at all, the ache peaking with every breath I take. I notice the burn is more on my left side than my back and try to keep my arm and my long braid away from the charred mess at all costs.

Another surge from Iris slams Tiberias against a bookshelf. He falls to his knees and I wonder if Iris will finish him off. Both combatants are panting with exhaustion. It would’ve been a combustive duel of true masters if the silent stone didn’t limit all of our abilities.

Maven, meanwhile, does nothing. I look at him but he doesn’t see me. I wish I could crush his organs and venes with my mind like I did a dozen times before to other marks but the tiniest try to employ telekinesis flares a pain that swallows me whole.

Tiberias rises and Iris jumps off the desk, shooting more squirts but becoming slower. He runs to her and I expect her to lash at him again, yet instead a wave envelops me and pulls me across the room. My sight blackens as I twist and turn. The next thing I see, lying on the doorstep, is Tiberias bending over Maven and touching his cheeks, absurdly gentle. Did he come here to save  _him_? Did the fucking imbecile set me on fire to protect the little fiend?!

The moment doesn’t last as Iris knocks Tiberias over with a small deluge that bangs him against a wall, leaving him unconscious on the floor. Then she stands here, waiting for her husband to look up to her. When he does, he mouths something. She turns without another glance at him.

The water gathers and lifts me up as Iris comes for me and it takes me seconds to notice that she supports me with her own arm, moving us onto the corridor.

“It’s better out here,” she says. “We have to be away before his allies arrive.”

“Where …?,” I utter. “And what did happen …?”

She shakes her head. “Saving our lives, that is what we’ll do.”

So the Queen of Norta drags me all the way to wherever safety is in the eye of a storm.

 


	15. Mare

**Mare POV**

**The call to** retreat comes just before noon. In the end, I did feel too detached from the battle with merely causing a blackout and blocking the streets below. I want to see Maven suffer and die and yet all I could watch were the storms called by Ella and Tyton, which have calmed a while ago.

I need minutes to release the remaining voltage in my body and still I zap everyone touching me, even Kilorn and our teleporter. But we’re urged to haste and can’t spare time. I wonder why.

The series of teleports makes me too dizzy to think much and our final destination can’t offer quietness either. It’s different kind of battlefield, a loud, dim and crowded space underground that would take me while to register. For now, I’m glad to take Kilorn’s arm.

“Can’t someone bleeding help me!” a girl with large headphones, standing to my left, screams. “And the signal down here is fucking awful as well!” She’s quite tiny despite her strong voice. Another woman runs to her through the ruckus, many of them new arrivals like Kilorn and me.

“Grace Winters!” the woman calls, “I heard you five minutes ago. You can go into a room a little higher up, and I’ll find someone to watch and help you, okay?”

Winters gathers her utensils and disappears, still looking  _very stressed_. The other woman sighs and finally, I recognize her. Saraline, Farley’s friend from Corvium. I greet her but Saraline has no time to spare. “Barrow! Warren!” she calls. “Good to see you two safe. The premier would like to meet you, he’s over there.”

So she guides us to a small room, separated from the crowds in the hall. It’s barely furnished and debris lies in the corners. Davidson is there with General Akkadi and two other persons, likely Guard members, and they talk fervently. Before he so much as glances at us, Saraline is already gone, occupied by new tasks.

Davidson clears his throat and turns to the young man in front of him. “Your companion didn’t arrive as planned,” he says. “You haven’t heard from her either?”

The young man hesitates. “No, sir,” he says quietly.

“Calore’s team reported back,” Akkadi says. “They found no one in the royal apartments. No bodies, hardly any blood.”

My eyes widen. Curiosity takes the better of me and I can’t wait to hear more of this topic. A part of me wishes I’d been in that team.

The Guard operative becomes even gloomier. “You recommended her for this task, Operative Ives,” Akkadi adds.

“And I still vouch for her loyalty to us, ma'am, sir,” Ives retorts. “I’ll hear from her sooner or later, if she’s alive.” He looks to the fourth person in the room, a woman of my age with brown hair, light skin. Her arms are crossed in defiance. “Unless you have a general suspicion against Silvers in your ranks,” he mutters and rises from his chair. His bitterness isn’t going to improve the situation but I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same. He meets my eyes at the door and for a moment, his expression changes to respect. He must be the same age as Tiberias but with a rather small built and warm brown skin, hair and eyes. Like Davidson, he has an Asian appearance.

“Hope, are you coming?” he calls to the woman in the back. She steps out of her shadowy corner but stays scowling. Unlike Ives, she’s Silver and now she walks straight to Davidson.

“Sir, we’ll take care of the safe conduct of the refugees crossing here now,” she says. “But what will you do for them? You agreed with Anabel to destroy their homes.” Her whole appearance is a challenge, a demand. It’s not an unfamiliar behaviour for Silvers who learn posturing from birth.

“Operative Lerolan, we have them in mind,” Davidson replies. “Thank you for your concern.”

Lerolan nods.

“Maybe you can ask your aunt for more information on the missing royals?” Akkadi suggests.

Lerolan laughs drily. “ _My aunt_ , the dearest Anabel, would see me executed before anything else. Too bad if one rejected the Calore rulers and joined the rebels before she sanctioned it.”

“However, we’re about to establish contact to the surrounding lords,” Davidson mentions. “They’ll have supplies for the refugees, be they Red or Silver.”

“Surrounding lords, hmm?” Lerolan muses. “Did you tip them off?”

“More likely your lovely aunt,” Akkadi says.

Lerolan frowns even more. “I’ll see to my tasks then,” she says to end the conversation and leaves with Ives.

Finally, Davidson and Akkadi turn to Kilorn and me with polite smiles on their faces.

“Operatives Barrow and Warren,” we’re greeted. “Excuse the delay, it’s good to see you again. What can you …?”

Davidson’s voice trails off in my head, just like the former discussion. Whatever he’s asking me, my only reply is, "you don’t know what happened to Tiberias and Maven?”

Both leaders can only shake their heads. 

* * *

**Fortunately, they don’t** ask me much, as if this was only a social call. I make a little report on the battle, Kilorn chats about the Piedmont base and I’m happy for every second he holds my hand.

But outside of the makeshift little office the chaos awaits. People scream and run about, some are injured ad waiting for healers and medics. They arrive too late for some and I just want to get away. Yet I have to stop when I see familiar blue and white heads in the crowd.

“Ella!”

Tyton looks up to me, no longer cool and detached. Tears are in his eyes as he takes Ella’s limp, dead hand.

She has to be. There’s too much blood around her yet her three gunshot wounds aren’t bleeding anymore. I fall to my knees and hug Tyton. I can’t give him more than that.

* * *

**In the end** , Kilorn finds a room for us to stay. It’s a hall of its own and we aren’t alone but no one is in these rebuilt tunnels between Archeon and Naercey, as I’ve realized our location by now. Before I settle down on a field bed, I’ve vomited two times already, sickened by the blood and gore. I can’t stop crying either and I’d feel ashamed for that if Kilorn wasn’t with me, rubbing my back.

“It’s the same for all of use, and tomorrow is another day,” he promises and I hope so much it’s true.

* * *

**All we hear** of Tiberias in the next days is Anabel announcing his wedding with Evangeline, to take place as soon as the bride arrives in Archeon.

“As if the metal princess is just a new flower to make her victor’s bouquet more shiny and perfect,” Kilorn comments and I have to agree. Securing the capital and the throne is all Anabel cares about and I can hardly blame her – it seems like a valid strategy for a person like her. Yet I still wish the feast to go up in flames and lightning like the one before, and the crown melting with it

There isn’t news on Maven and Iris either. Many people worry about the Cygnet princess’s disappearance, and the Lakelands’ reaction but I can’t get around imagining Maven showing up in this chaotic but safe place and destroying everything we achieved. I’m still afraid of him but that’s hardly worse than the insecurity about Tiberias’s whereabouts. Maybe he’s too injured to return, disfigured by wounds a skinhealer needs weeks to mend, or so I tell myself. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Anabel played for time while hiding his demise.

He can’t be dead. How could he be dead when he carries my earring and I haven’t talked to him again?

* * *

**I spend the**  next few days with Kilorn and Saraline trying to restore order among the soldiers and the refugees living above ground and below. We bury Ella and the rest of our fallen as well, in Archeon’s most renowned cemetery. It’s barely damaged and the work of greenwardens shows and yet I can’t bring myself to see the beauty of the place. I doubt anyone does.

While the royals’ fates are uncertain, our leaders make the best of it and claim that  _all is well_  and Maven deposed. Two days after the battle we broadcast a video with me, Davidson, Saraline, Anabel and a Silver woman of House Welle who governs the fields close to Archeon and who just arrived to ally with us. She hardly fits in this place filled with soldiers with her long dress but she does bring food.

Grace Winters still complains about the lack of help as she’s ordered to make radio contact to the surrounding areas and their governors. As Hope Lerolan guessed, they must’ve been tipped off and with Maven out of the way, they’re likely to follow the Samos’ example and rule themselves.

* * *

**A week after**  the battle my patience runs out. If I can’t learn more about our plans and the Calores or go home, I’ll talk to my family at least. When Grace has a break, I pester her into letting me make a distance call to the Piedmont base.

“If a telegram won’t be enough?” Grace sighs. “But the calling machines are a little way off and there’s no guarantee your family will come to pick up in time.”

“No matter, I’m sure they will.” I get Kilorn to come with us and Grace leads us to the gadgets. She puts her headphones back on and produces her notebooks to scribble along as we walk. No surprise she’s overworked.

Loud calls are made behind me, one word I understand is “Farley”. At least she has the decency to message us and I look forward to hear from her, be it good or bad news.

Suddenly, Grace stops. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

She shakes her head. “New information from General Farley. We can’t talk to Piedmont as the base is currently evacuated.”

 


	16. Evangeline

**Evangeline POV**

**Elane’s already asleep**  when I lay down next to her. Exhaustion has claimed her sooner than me who’s still filled with nervous energy but her closeness calms me. Enough so I can doze off while the memories remain. We killed so many today, and more will come tomorrow, and the day after. Staying in the now royal residence of Pitarus is a luxury compared to the conditions of soldiers camping in the mud, in clammy tents or watching on the walls. It’s not our fate as we aren’t on a campaign, we’re the defenders now, expecting to be besieged by Lakelander forces. We do our best to prevent that.

In my darkest moments, I can’t believe how Father has failed us. He should’ve known better. He  _must_  have thought of this. His charge against Detraeon, the Lakelander capital, left our newly-founded kingdom bereft of its main forces. It’s as good as an invitation to attack our home from the west and I’ll never forget Mother’s expression when the scouts confirmed what her animal familiars must’ve already told her about: the approach of an army marching through our lowly-populated western areas. Then her perpetual, sneering confidence was broken by sudden nervousness and cluelessness. She almost looked like a person.

As promising as the prize of the Rift sounds, for the Lakelanders it’s a charge of vengeance as well. When Father fought in the north, he met with the Lakelands’ crown princess Agnes at the head of the defending army and unfortunately, they didn’t battle for months as expected. It was short, bloody, and brutal, and the princess was gravely injured, and likely died although the reports we receive don’t state that. But that didn’t stop her remaining generals to take Father as a hostage.

The Cygnet Queen is unrelenting and rejects negotiation of a ransom. Instead she sent an army in retaliation while we’ve heard nothing from our troops committed to the cause in the North.

Tolly has promised to return from Corvium where he’s watched the former border for so long, so he can support our defense in Pitarus. I can’t wait to see him again.

But for now, our only hope are reinforcements from Tiberias and his grandmother who are out to reclaim Archeon and its surrounding territories at the moment. Either they’ll come to help, or the Kingdom of the Rift will shatter as soon as it was forged. 

* * *

**We’re phantoms**  in the night. Elane and I dash over the plain outstretching between the walls of Pitarus and the enemy’s camp. She’s thrown a veil of visibility over both of us as and we stop so I can rig the ground with metal spikes. I spread them wide and push them deeper and deeper into the soil. Once the Lakelander forces come this way, our magnetrons will pull the spikes up again to stop and skewer them.

Elane keeps watch, raising her binoculars. She doesn’t have to hide herself and stands like a work of art against the starry night sky. I can’t make out our surroundings like she does as the glamour blurs my sight too much. But Elane has learned from the moment her ability showed up to read and see through the twisting shadows created by her refracting the light.

“Eve,” she whispers, “is it true that you magnetrons can feel each other at work? Aren’t you worried?”

I get up, hurling a last spike into the air before I ram it into the earth. “Seen someone?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Well, that’s true. Every magnetron worth their rivets perceives great metal bodies moving, including movements caused by abilities. But there’s no difference – any foe wouldn’t know whether I’m doing this or if a transport drives in the distance.”

Elane lowers the binoculars and turns to me. Even in the shroud she’s cast over us, the starlight becomes her, her red hair shining despite the darkness. She lifts an eyebrow.

“And I know of no magnetron who can use this sense to locate the source,” I conclude. I enjoy her gaze on me and this moment of mutual solitude way too much, given that we’re basically standing on the front lines. But the danger has an arousing aspect as much as the impression of the two of us being alone in the world.

“The night isn’t over yet,” Elane says. The corners of my mouth twitch but her next words far less sensual. “The way to the camp is completely clear, patrols are going to another side of town. We could go to the camp and sabotage a little.” Her eyes are gleaming with mischief yet her recklessness feels like a punch.

“What?” I blurt.

She takes my hand. “Why not? No one will see us and just making traps that might never be activated or waiting for your  _betrothed_  to arrive feels terribly passive. Eve, we can – “

I kiss her before she can say more. I don’t want to hear more this topic because it is true: I don’t want to depend on Tiberias Calore. “Okay,” I whisper, “let’s do this.”

Elane gives me her jacket to hide the metal armour I wear, even though she’ll cast another glamour on us, a new one for running. For a split second, I see the night sky and Elane’s smile sparkles like the stars. The glamour ripples and we start to run. Elane’s curvier, bigger and heavier than me with my lean muscles but that doesn’t inhibit her athletic prowess. We move in silence but with determination and Elane casts enough light to reveal uneven spots in the ground. Soon we’ve covered the two kilometres to the camp. We choose a fenced-off spot to enter, hoping to find fewer guards patrolling. And indeed, Elane doesn’t see any in the closest vicinity. I suggest to break into the arsenal to rig their weapons and she agrees, already trying to locate the stock. But this is a task for me, as its mass of metal calls to me. Nevertheless, this plan demands our full attention and careful moves. I stick close to Elane since I can hardly see while she guides us away from people, tents and other obstacles.

_We’re there_ , she gestures to me.

_No guards?_  I reply.

_One over there for a moment. Get in._

The arsenal is locked but I can open it with my ability. I only use tiny surges and imagine I had the key so the lock won’t be damaged and will close again. Once I’m done it’ll be obvious enough a magnetron was here but a locked door will buy us time. The lock clicks and I step into makeshift building, my hand gliding over swords, pistols, rifles, guns. I bend and twist the weapons as I touch them, making my way to the transports and tanks farther back. As time passes, I’m growing suspicious this might be a ruse. What if the Lakelanders calculated with the Rift’s shadow princess and her relations, expecting an infiltration? Elane isn’t even with me in this room …

I cut my mission short, frantically feeling my way out – and don’t find Elane standing watch. I whisper her name, remembering she has to stay invisible. But there’s no reaction, nor words or touch, no flicker of light, no anything.

_By my colours, love, where are you?_

I turn to the wall and take a few breaths. She has to be safe, I tell myself.

I close the zipper of her jacket up to my chin, pull the hood over my face and stuck my silver hair into it. I prowl away from the arsenal, trying to perceive what I can while remaining hopefully inconspicuous but slowly panicking. What are a few sabotaged weapons compared to two captured princesses of the Rift? Their magnetrons can easily repair their arms after they’ve caught us. Fortunately, the Lakelanders don’t have much of our kind here, only a few have arrived as far as we know. A stupid move, as telkies and other magnetrons are the best counter against us. For now, the Lakelanders deploy their infamous nymphs and shivers to damage our fields and town walls.

Pitarus’ walls remain standing – but so far, all we fought in were skirmishes in the outskirts, not a real siege.

There’re very few Reds in the camp besides some servants and technicians. Seems like the Lakelanders are too proud to use foot soldiers while our Reds are committed to defend Pitarus, as they were to go with Father on his invasion.

Someone bumps into me and with a flick of my wrist, a blade’s in my hand and against their throat.

I let the blade dissolves with a gasp. “Elane …!” She just became visible as I entered her glamour.

“ _Shhh_ ,” she urges me but she’s hardly quiet in her rush to get us moving. Again, my view is reduced to her and useless mirage images of our surroundings as I follow her, this time unable to avoid stumbling. Why this haste? I dread encountering a foe for real and indeed, Elane stops suddenly.

“Magnetron,” she hisses.

My armour suddenly feels heavy. We can’t see each other, but the enemy’s specific sense has to vibrate now, as does mine. If I wasn’t with her, Elane wouldn’t have to worry about that, as she wears no metal and even her weapons are cut from diamondglass instead, an insignia of House Haven.

I cling to her as she draws such a dagger now. She sidles forward until the foe enters our glamour. He immediately turns to me but he’s too surprised to stop Elane from ending with her dagger in his neck.

“What will we do with him?” I ask quietly.

She shrugs.  _Shrugs_. “We climb over the fence 200 m to the left.” She looks at me. her calm face stunning me. But this demeanour lasts only for a second and her lips start to quiver. She has to fight her consternation as well. “They’ll have another body to worry about,” she says, then pauses. “I killed their general.”

I’m not granted the time to gasp or ask questions. We have to make our escape.

* * *

**Mother’s birds screech**  in the night sky above Pitarus. Although we’re safe now, Elane only drops the glamour for the door guards to recognize us and let us in. Apparently, her familiars have done their job well as Mother already waits for us in the main hall. I stiffen and banish my excitement caused by our adventure, showing the Queen of the Rift her due respect. Elane has no such restraints, she touches my hand in passing, curtseys half-mockingly and goes directly to her mother-in-law.

“Your majesty, I have a confession to make,” she says. “I persuaded Eve to come with me to the enemy camp and sabotage.”

Mother seems almost amused.

“We were successful, your majesty. Eve damaged the arsenal while I assassinated One or two people. Like General Seydoux.”

Mother actually pats her cheek. “Well done, my dear.” She chuckles. “I’m uncertain His Majesty would rejoice as much but well, if he leaves matters in our hands, we’ll deal with them in our ways.” How lightly she talks about Father’s absence although he’s virtually a prisoner. But Elane smiles back. In truth, I’m envious of her easy access to Mother. I wouldn’t dare, not ever.

Suddenly, Elane’s expression freezes and her smile becomes too broad to be real. “I hope this is enough to prove my worth to you, Your Majesty. So I’ll be more to you than a womb to bear your grandchildren.”

It’s a slap in Mother’s face – and mine. When did Elane become this outspoken person, voicing things I can’t imagine to say?

Mother gives no answer, just inclines her head. Elane turns to the direction of our rooms and I follow, remembering to curtsey and say goodnight to Mother.

* * *

**“How did you**  manage to say that to Mother?” I ask her after we’ve showered and lay entangled on the bed.

“Hm?” She breathes against my neck, then lifts her head. “It seemed like an opportune moment.”

“Do you hate being married to Tolly? To have … “

“Eve, it’s just … “ she sighs and pulls me closer, her hair tickling my skin as she tugs mine behind my ear. “I want children, and I think Tolly would be an amazing father. But I don’t want to be reduced to producing heirs, you see. Why rush things?”

“We could die at any time.”

“Well, if you think like that, we won’t have the time to make babies either.” She laughs.

“You’re very fatalistic tonight.”

Elane frowns, then kisses first my neck, then my chin, my cheek, my mouth. “Isn’t it the same for you?” she asks quietly after a while. I wait a long time before I agree. 

* * *

**At breakfast two** days later, Mother announces Anabel Lerolan’s impending arrival for later this day. Elane states her polite excitement and is otherwise on friendly terms with our court members as well, all of them waiting to support the defenses again.

Of course, the royal ladies will welcome the queen dowager and her retinue despite our troubles. Picking listlessly with my fork, I ask Mother a few questions about Lerolan’s passage and how safe travel was and is currently. As casually as possible, inquire whether Tiberias will come along.

“She didn’t say,” Mother replies. “Nor have my familiars seen him.” She goes on with describing the successful conquest of the Nortan capital. If I’m lucky, Lerolan’s whole journey is a ruse and Tiberias fell in Archeon, with his grandmother now playing a game with us. Bringing her soldiers along to placate her Samos allies before she’ll have to confess she has no longer a crown to offer.

“But the queen dowager sent me a message,” Mother continues. “She wants to celebrate the victory with a royal wedding.”

My next breaths have to sound like snorting and I don’t care. I need all my control to stop myself from flipping the table. Instead I occupy my mind with the intricate task of turning my fork into a metal rose. How dare Anabel Lerolan to come pluck me like a flower to add to her bouquet, congratulating herself for taking the capital?

Elane, the cousins, guards, and servants leave one after another for the defense and other preparations. I stay seated with Mother. She feeds her kestrel with bits of meat she tosses haphazardly into the air.

“I share Elane’s opinion,” I say as I rise. Mother looks up to me, her bird forgotten and flying back to her perch. “I’m more than Lerolan’s broodmare.”

Mother smirks and my heart sinks. She doesn’t take me seriously. “Of course you aren’t, Eve. We didn’t put so much effort in raising you to become a queen if your whole job was – well.” She shrugs before she has to go into the inconvenient details.

What did I expect her to reply? I’m the perfect Silver daughter, she can’t imagine I’d ever let them down and object to the marriage to Tiberias. I walk to the door. I consider capture by the Lakelanders again, as it can’t be much worse than –

“Eve.” Mother calls after me. I glance back, seeing an unusually soft expression on her face. I must be misreading her. “You know that I’m very proud of you?” she says and now I stop trusting my ears as well. She downs her tea like it was alcoholic. “You want everything, Eve, and you won’t relent before you have it. I respect you for that.”

I’m shaken by disbelief.

“You told your father and me you loved women, and only women and didn’t bat an eye. You said you loved Elane and in the same breath, you claimed the throne of Norta would be yours still, while Elane would make a great match for Tolly.” She sighs. “You don’t give up but see new ways and that makes you everything a queen can aspire to be.

“What more can I wish for?”

I still hold the metal rose I made in my hand. I grab it so hard the thorns I’ve shaped myself draw my Silver blood on its silver body. “I’m happy to please you, Mother,” I reply.

* * *

**When Queen Dowager**  Anabel Lerolan arrives at Pitarus, she doesn’t simply add the soldiers she’s brought to our forces, she inspects our army if they were all her own. I follow her more like a guide than her equal but the gazes of our magnetrons sustain me. I’m their princess, second in line, and their loyalty belongs to me, not to the old queen. We’re an independent kingdom and it’s my task to remind Lerolan of that.

“Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?” I ask, my first words since we’ve started this tour along the wall. Birds flying over our heads.

“The Samos never lacked discipline,” she says, “you’re the best example, Your Highness.” Casually, she picks up a stone and obliterates it.

“Are you interested in training with me, Your Majesty?” I smirk, letting my armour shift in answer to her own show.

“For a moment.”

I shoot spikes from the steel I wear on my body but Lerolan lifts her hand and melts them, before they ricochet back to me in a heat wave. Just in time, I can divert them away from me. I look around to check I didn’t hit any of our soldiers in this friendly fire. The birds, obviously tamed by Mother, aren’t disturbed in the least and still glide through the sky.

Lerolan laughs. “You’re truly worthy of your crown, Evangeline of the Rift.”

“Of the Rift, indeed,” I struggle to find the right posture for a second, a blend of imperiousness and aloofness. I’ve always managed to maintain my attitude easily but recently, I feel it turning into a pretend. “You shouldn’t forget who I am, Your Majesty. I’m a princess in my own right, an equal to Tiberias and of a house as old.”

Her smile is deceptively complaisant. “Of course you remember, Your Majesty,” I continue, equally sweet. “This is precisely why you desire me as a bride for Tiberias. Tell me, how long have we until we’ll find my brother dead in his bed so your grandson can claim the Rift in his, excuse me,  _our_  right? So Norta can be one again?”

“How nice of you to remind me, Your Highness.” Her smile doesn’t waver. She outstretches her hand in a welcoming gesture as if her touch wasn’t lethal. “Who else could I want for a better ally than your family? Because that is what we are, dear.  _Allies_.”

“Allies who trust each other as much as we trust the Red rebels?”

She sighs, turns away, and continues on her way along the wall. “Careful, Your Highness. My disgraced other grandson had a good idea by making peace with the Lakelands.” Her fingertips touch the wall and dust crumbles off the concrete. “Maybe I should offer them support instead.”  _Them_ , the enemy coming closer every day.

I snort. “With whom would you talk, I wonder? Their general passed away last night, due to our commitment to defend Pitarus.”

Lerolan’s head spins to me. Nice to see her shocked. “But now that you mention them, what has become of Maven and Iris?” I go on. “And of my groom – we’ve heard nothing from him since the battle of Archeon. How can there be a wedding if – “

“He’s perfectly alright, Your Highness,” she insists. I can’t tell if she lies.

I nod. “I hope the same is true of Princess Iris. If she died – “

“Your father wouldn’t last long either, I fear. I’m aware.” More concrete turns to dust until a needle pricks her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” I look around. “ _Someone_  must’ve become suspicious of your hand on our wall.” I smile sweetly, she reciprocates before she dashes off, cursing, “insolent,” under her breath.

* * *

**Lerolan rushes things** , and no one else knows whether to call the dinner a welcoming or a farewell festivity. It shall be the latter for me, and the plane to bring Lerolan and me back to Archeon is a shiny but menacing presence in in our hangar. All the time I can beg for is to wait for Tolly’s arrival from Corvium; his journey through the Northern parts of our lands can’t take much longer now. I can’t be denied this, as I’m one of the commanders of the defense and obligated to wait for my replacement. He should be here already, and Mother’s spies, both human and not, are sent to track him.

My crown is the first thing I dress myself with, before I braid, coil, and pin my hair around it. I allow no stray hair and I imagine the hairstyle as both a helmet and emphasis for my bare face and neck. I spend so much time on perfecting my hair, always finding another flaw to correct or a loose hair to fix, that I hardly have time to spare to finish the dress. I indulge in a moment of chaos, first dividing aluminium sheets into shards and pins and then I just pull them onto my body as if I was really a magnet. I like the result, a shirt like a jigsaw from my feet to my ribs, my upper body and shoulder covered in spikes up to my throat. Naturally I’m not content with the first try and thus I shape, smooth and draw the intentional chaos into something aesthetically pleasing and challenging to behold. It’s an art I’m more versed in compared to what awaits me with the snakes of court life.

I trust Elane to make me glitter painfully bright in addition to my work. She appears like my opposite: Her style is dark and loose with her hair falling free and her dress made of black valance folds. Where the metal gives me heaviness and weight, she’s ephemeral, coming in and out of sight just for the fun of it. I know she’s there nonetheless and take her hand, never letting go. When we enter the great hall, not nearly filled with so many off to secure our lands, Elane kisses me, first my hand, then my mouth while regaining visibility right at the moment just before our lips part.

Elane can always smile at people, at any time. I prefer to remain stern as Father told me to, and the same applies to us now. The princesses of the Rift are made of contrasts complementing each other.

Anabel Lerolan is already seated and we take our places before Mother joins us, a panther stroking its head on her skirts like an overgrown kitten as she walks down from her throne to the table.

The four royal ladies toast to each other and to power and strength; the panther growls.

“You two make such a beautiful couple,” Lerolan says. “So stylish and classy.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Elane replies, and toys with a long tress.

“You know I have utmost sympathy for your situation,” the old queen adds. “We’ve always been best friends, King Tiberias V, Robert Iral, and I. I have no joy in seeing you two parted.” She takes a sip and it feels like a new jab. Like she thinks it funny that we brought this situation upon ourselves, and thus have to solve it ourselves.

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll maintain the friendships between our houses,” I say at one point. “I’ll be so glad to welcome King Tiberias VII back among the High Houses.” At least he should be easy to control, even if I have to endure Mare Barrow and her rebels around him.

* * *

**We rise before**  dawn, even Elane who’s a positive night owl. I re-shape the remains of last night’s dress into an armour and knives while she gets our bags. “Or we simply elope, Eve,” she suggests one last time.

I laugh huskily. “We’re queens-to-be, have you forgotten?” But deep down, I consider her idea. It feels more comfortable than our current plan.

She shakes her head and follows me out, without letting go of the bags as we enter the corridor under her glamour. Possibly flight is a viable option if something goes wrong. I’m not as confident as I pretend to be, actually I become more and more nauseous with every step. Doubt wants to stop me and it might succeed in the end. There might be another option, even when Elane opens the door to Lerolan’s rooms. She doesn’t appear committed either, rather as sick as I. She breathes raggedly. “Eve, wait … “she pants but the door is already open when I finally notice my sight isn’t blurry anymore. I can see the person on the bed perfectly clear.

Elane’s glamour is gone. Nausea and headache hit me like a kick in the gut. It’s silent stone, everywhere in the room and in Anabel’s limp and lifeless body.

“What …?” Elane wants to pull me away but I remain standing. A snake hisses, two more fall in, and I see the bite marks on the dowager queen’s body.

“Larentia killed her,” Elane whispers.

Of course she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still in the suite, waiting for us before she brings her serpents away.

“Didn’t she know? Elane wonders. “That we would do … the same?” She’s so stunned, still doubting we would’ve gone through with a murder.

I shake my head. “That doesn’t change anything.” I step into the room, grit my teeth and take a knife. The silent stone was to poison and paralyze her while the serpents would bite anyway. But I’ll spare Mother the fate and reputation of the poison bride as I planned to do in the first place. I start to stab Anabel’s body until no one will look for a different cause of death, stabbing until I fall to the floor, close to fainting.

“Eve.” Elane rubs my back. “The stone’s too much, let’s leave this place.”

But I can’t. Even though it wasn’t really me, even though I had the same idea, the graveness of this act drags me. We thought we’d hide Anabel’s death by her supposed departure to Archeon but that’s not going to work. There’re too many people involved, too many going to ask questions.

In truth, I merely wanted to make threats to Anabel but Mother created new facts.  _We’ll deal with them in our ways_ , she said a few days ago, and she really did.

“I need to get away.”

“Eve?”

I don’t let her hide me. I don’t go to Mother. I leave the residence, hear  _again_  birds screeching above me as I move to the wall. I could join the skirmishes farther off and no one would care about the blood on me. But I find the one safe gate, the same Anabel’s used, and exit Pitarus’s walls without explaining to run across the plains. I know nothing and exertion is my release, freeing me from all these games and schemes.

Sunrise announces itself with a few red spots in the grey sky, like in the silly slogan of the rebels. After several kilometres, I first feel, then hear a transport approaching. I wish so much it’s Tolly with his retinue: Indeed, faintly I can perceive more transports farther back. I charge ahead, drawn to the machine.

But it’s not my brother, nor our soldiers.

“What are you doing here, princess?” sneers a familiar voice. The blue eyes of the Red general glare at me as she leans out of a door. I do my best to stare back.

**_A/N:_** _The next chapter will be a Farley interlude so you can learn how she came to this place and what she did in the meantime during the last chapters ;-)_  

 


	17. Farley - Interlude

**_A/N:_ ** _Because I don’t intent to write another Farley chapter, I had to cram everything in here. So sorry this is terribly long again._

**Interlude - Farley POV**

**Clara is a**  distraction.

She becomes too active and sprightly to be carried around all day, let alone to be left in her bed to sleep. She wants attention, she wants to play, and thus, I sometimes find myself thinking about getting toys for her for five minutes – instead of how to acquire provisions for the rest of the base according to our resources. Most of these times I shake my head and go back to work but often I laugh. I can’t help the strange joy I feel when Clara looks at me, expectantly, curious, with her big amber eyes.

Distraction, as I say.

I know I should give her to Ruth more often; she loves when I do a few times per week. Yet I frequently end up reading something out loud to Clara, whatever I’m currently occupied with, so she can hear my voice. I guess I still feel like I have to make up for my absence of a whole month during the summer. It seems unimaginable now, in hindsight. Yet I’ll have to leave again at some point.

Once, I gave in completely, picked her up and sat down to play with her on the floor. Only that I could merely offer my old scarf as a toy. We had fun anyway, until Ada came in and found us there. I felt caught, yet I saw amusement flicker in Ada’s eyes. Still, it shouldn’t have stopped me from being embarrassed that my subordinate smiled down on me, wholly occupied with my child. But it did, and as Ada is my friend, the awkwardness subsided.

I need friends like her to hold the loneliness and grief at bay, as well as the pervasive stress. Because power and responsibility don’t do shit to make you content. Maybe, if we succeed, this will change. For now, it’s uncanny how rewarding it feels to know that Clara is safe and sound, or to watch her sleep peacefully and wake up every morning. I love nothing and nobody as much as her. Nothing could hurt me as much as something happening to her. 

* * *

**I sleep well**  at night because I’m too exhausted not to. Clara wakes me anyway, of course, and I have to make the best of that too. But there’re the times when the loneliness surfaces and grief hits me in the guts. I lost Shade but I’ll always have Clara, so I tell myself, thus something of our love will remain. Usually that’s enough. But sometimes I think that he’s left me with her. I’m alone and I – we – shouldn’t be. Clara should have her father, like he should have gotten to meet her. It’s when I feel helpless, wishing I could do anything. Vengeance. Crying. Forsake sleep until I’ve found the ultimate strategy for the Guard’s victory. Go to Ada’s room and ask her why she looks at me with such longing.

_Give in. Do something._

But usually, I don’t. I take care of Clara’s needs, rock her to sleep and fall back into my sheets.

My feelings have become too painful to dream about.

* * *

**I’ve begun to**  appreciate the work breaks nights offer. At some point, caring for a little baby is tough enough and I don’t want to wake Clara more often than necessary, unless a situation is too dire, or new information too urgent to allow my absence. I never demanded to be let in peace at night, yet I come to notice my soldiers take consideration of me. Or at least Ada does, I guess.

One day, I finally ask her to receive nightly intelligence in my place and report to me if she deems it important. I only do that to make it official, suspecting she’s already set up this system long ago, without my knowledge. I don’t find another way to thank her.

But the few messages that are urgent enough are worth the personal discomfort. Like when our operatives in Corvium and the Rift inform me that Ptolemus Samos is about to head back to Pitarus along with considerable troops now that his task of securing his father’s march into the Lakelands is done. He’s supposed to defend their new capital against possible invaders who’re on their way from the Lakelands. A reasonable act, but also in our favour.

Whereas on the next night, the colonel messages us about said Samos campaign in the Lakelands and the battle which took place. He says he kept the Guard soldiers out of it and it played out as intended: The Silvers weakened and killed each other with the Lakelands’ crown princess Agnes Cygnet dead and Volo Samos taken hostage.

My father’s unsure about what to do about the Red soldiers in the Rift’s army. They were able to retreat but they must’ve noticed the Guard’s lacking commitment to either side, certainly raising suspicion. The colonel wants to recruit the Reds to our cause, maybe use them for further rebel activities in the Lakelands, but they’re strangely loyal to the Rift.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t tell me about their Silver officers and their plans. Were they taken prisoner as well? Would the Reds rather obey them instead of Guard officers?  _Go back to Corvium_ , I tell him, now that it’s free of the Samos prince.  _Persuade the Red soldiers to go with you if possible and take command of the city._ The colonel should know that actions against the local governments need to be coordinated with Command - but I’ve acted on my own often enough to smell the temptation of taking risks.

I stare at the maps, outlining the routes they’ll take with my eyes. I add other movements I know about and structure them in my mind. The conflicts unfold according to our plans but I fear the enemies will see the patterns as well and outmanoeuvre us. The fear whispers constantly in the back of my mind, thoughts that I’ve lived with for years, and in some ways, for my whole life. I try to spin it around, use the fear as motivation to keep on fighting. This is what we have to end, this is what I wish that Clara will never have to feel like.

My attention returns to the maps, to the ways and roads connecting the Lakelands, Corvium, Pitarus, and some smaller keeps in between. Piedmont, and this base, Winghill, aren’t far off from the Rift’s capital. It’s almost a straight line, with Archeon to the east. A battle for the Nortan capital will be unavoidable, the Lerolan faction insists on it happening in a few days. I’ve had to communicate with Calore about it and our tactic’s taking a more and more specific shape. It’s strangely easy to treat him as a mere ally. We make a good team this way, but only in this. I can’t accept his choice, betraying Mare and all of us in the Guard who lived and fought with him. In the end, he hasn’t listened to us nor cared about us and what we suffer because of people like him. I can’t excuse his choice, not when I know Silvers who actually help and support the Guard’s cause, starting with Sara and his own uncle Julian. If Cal’s changing, I can’t see it. Nor can I dare to mention him and our cooperation to Mare. She’s smart enough to guess but asking her about her emotions is a minefield, a dangerous topic that might be worth the effort though. I’ve lied to her enough already.

But it’s the same with Maven. When my Archeon spies, recommended by Lacey Ventos, informed me of Iris Cygnet’s pregnancy, it felt like a slap in the face. I can’t imagine telling anyone about that, least of all Mare. And still, a part of me feels commiseration.

Am I better than Maven? I sit in meetings and in my office and order people to kill and be killed. Whether I participate in battles or not, leadership is a bloody business and sometimes I wonder if Command only wanted me for the risks I’m ready to take. Like he is, even if our reasons are different. My position creates detachment and yet I feel the guilt of it.

Again, I have to look at Pitarus on the map. An idea that has never left me for a year resurfaces and now it becomes urging. It evolves to an actual opportunity and a plan. I look away and take a deep breath. Turn to Clara. But my resolve doesn’t falter.

I give my daughter a kiss. “Be right back, dove,” I whisper and leave the room. I find Ada conferring with other officers and wave her to me. “I’ve hatched a new push and I need you to tell me your honest opinion,” I say as we return to my office. “It seems like a good chance but it might be somewhat biased on my part.”

When I’m done, she smiles, quick to add some improvements.

* * *

**Command is eager**  to hear about my suggestion, demanding to put it into action as soon as possible.  _All we wanted, a viable option to dismantle the Samos for good_ , is a fitting summary of the replies. Or at least to keep them and the rest of the Silver factions occupied at each other’s throats.

_Don’t wait for the Archeon battle_ , we decide in the end. Only the choosing of a team remains to be settled and Command leaves that to me.  _Dispatch operatives to your appraisal, General Farley_ , and it doesn’t sound like a vote but an order I’m ready to obey. My confirmation is already prepared when I hesitate to consider: Should I really do this  _myself_?

But of course I will. Now the plan gets into motion, I can’t quench my excitement. I’ve waited for this opportunity, planned this for a year. Already longer than that. The first anniversary of Shade’s death was another of  _those_  days, pulling me down no matter how I tried to distract myself. This can only be a relief. I send the reply.

* * *

**Ruth isn’t amused**  to hear of my mission, even of the small parts I can tell her. “You promised to take care of my child as I take care of yours,” she reminds me, thinking of Mare who’ll go to Archeon without me now. Ruth excels at giving me a bad conscience, as much as at giving me support me when I need, but don’t expect it. I don’t know how she manages to read me so well, just like Shade.

“I considered this in my plans,” I say. “It’s unlikely something will happen to Mare.”

Ruth snorts. “Right.”

“I’m sorry. There’ll never be guarantees but Mare wants to – ”

“I only want my family at home.”

But we don’t have a home, neither me nor the Barrows. I sigh. “Do you think this is a home, Ruth? Be honest.”

Suddenly, she takes my hand like I touched a nerve. “This place … the boys are content here, like they’ve been soldiers for too long. Staying with us while serving your cause is enough for them. I think this applies to Mare, too. Or to you. But Gisa … she hates it here, and doesn’t want to pretend. And Daniel and I are so close to agreeing with her. Then I think how lucky we are. We’re safe, we have … our children, and know what’s going on. But …” she squeezes my hand. “How could I forget what we lost? This safety is an illusion.”

I have to swallow. “Would it bother you to continue to pretend?” I ask. “I’d like to celebrate, umm, Clara’s half-birthday.” It’s close to cheating because the baby always cheers her up.

“Half a year already? They grow up so quickly,” she says. “What a nice idea, but we’ll have a party for Mare as well.” 

* * *

**_They grow up_ ** _so quickly._

It’s almost funny. Should I be glad about that, because what can I want more than seeing Clara grow up? It is my greatest wish. I watch the little changes in her with full attention, I know her face better than my own. Until one day I look into the mirror for more than two seconds and see. Clara looks like Shade, everyone says so, but the tip of her nose, the swing of her cheeks, the shape of her eyes - that’s me, as far as I can tell at this point. I don’t know what to make of this insight, other than it stuns me.

But I don’t just want to watch her growing up, I want to see her living outside of this misery. The fear. The fights. The war. Will her whole childhood be like this, wondering whether her mother will return, and fleeing from safe house to safe house? She shouldn’t live in submission but even if we achieve a decisive victory, we’ll still have to defend it with blood, sweat and tears for years after it. Yet, Clara makes me dream for the better, even when I have to rely on dirty deals if necessary. 

* * *

**Ruth’s done wonders**  for the party and probably made everyone assist her. She even has a cake and spoons it to Clara, insisting she’s old enough for more food than my milk. Clara eyes the dishes all-too-curiously while I needle Ruth which foods exactly I can give to Clara. As if she didn’t go without my milk before when I was away. The pump I found was a great helper for the time being.

To my surprise, the Barrows have presents despite the short notice. Of course they do. Apart from clothes and blankets, Gisa produces a toy seal she’s made with actual plush that Mare and the boys must’ve obtained for her. Clara latches onto it immediately and I feel awkward the Barrows are so much better at gleaning than I am, despite my position. 

Now they laugh at Clara’s antics although Gisa only offers a tight smile. I don’t blame her. She dislikes the base. She misses Shade, and Cameron as well. I hope they’ll hold on to their feelings. Cameron has, first slowly, then more frequently, asked me for advice on their relationship once it started. Me of all people. But I actually enjoy to tell her about Giselle, the girl I’ve dated so long ago. I don’t even know what became of her after the Guard claimed my life. At least I learned she’d left our village before it was destroyed and my family with it.

* * *

**Before I leave** , I write a new letter for Clara. I do every time when I go on a mission. They’re for later on, whether I’ll read them to her or someone else will have to in my place.

* * *

**My confidence wavers**  the closer we - Ada, Crance, Harrick and I - fly to Linton. It’s the keep Ptolemus Samos is currently staying at with his army. Just Ada landing us without getting us shot from the sky makes me glad. Not that we waive entering the small base in submission. When we approach, the Samos soldiers only lower their guns and makeshift weapons alarmingly slow, in the end remembering that we’re their allies.

I count a few hundred soldiers here, with a little more Silver officers than usual. It should seem our course to engage them in battles with each other gives reprieve to the Reds used like cannon fodder, but this strategy might prove difficult on this particular mission. Again the doubt kicks in, thoughts I shove away until Ada can give me accurate reports.

We’re escorted to the main building, too small for the whole division who live in the barracks that are still in need of renovations. No wonder, no one was interested in the keep until the Kingdom of the Rift declared its independence.

I need to calm myself anyway when the commander, Ptolemus Samos himself, greets us. He doesn’t ask about our purpose yet, probably due to noble antics, but the curiosity blended with mistrust shows on everyone’s faces. I salute him with all control I can manage. It would be easier if I could avoid looking into his eyes. “Good morning, your highness. We’re on our way to Corvium to meet our troops who went with your father’s majesty’s forces,” I announce. “After we communicated with them, we decided to retreat – ”

“You’re heard of them!” Ptolemus interrupts me. I incline my head. He clears his throat, now all eyes are definitely on us. “You see, umm, ma'am, it seems like our comrades lost their radio devices as we’ve merely received messages from the enemy sent to my mother.”

I nod again. “If that’s the case, I can provide more information.” I wave to Harrick to produce the folder we prepared, filled with lies and truths alike. “We’re heard of your communicative troubles, so we decided to drop by, your highness.” I needed much too long to prepare this little speech. He takes the folder, glimpses at it, then shuts it.

“I don’t understand. Why are you retreating?”

“Excuse me, your highness?”

He crosses his arms and cocks his head, glancing at the Silver officers around him. “Now that contact’s re-established, we can free my father and the captured officers. Your people are good at infiltrating, aren’t they?” He grins. “Philip, Christine, Alexis.” He points to them, to their astonishment. “You’ll help her Red soldiers so they can get into Detraeon efficiently. And you,” he turns to me again, “you can use your plane to ferry my three into the Lakelands.”

He looks so terribly amused and smug and I realize he doesn’t know my name. I bit my lip. “You won’t take a day to consider this strategy?”

He shrugs. “They know what they’re doing. And as you’ll give the plane away, you can come with us to Pitarus, by the way.” According to the faces his chosen ones make, I doubt they like any part of his ideas.

But I say the agreeing, “yes, your highness,” with the renewed resolution to kill him.

* * *

**„Maybe we shouldn’t**  have come by plane,” Harrick says. “Sneaked in instead, you know, General.”

He isn’t completely wrong. “But this developed better than expected,” I say. “With a few adjustments we would’ve needed anyway, we’ll get this done.”

He still appears doubtful.

“Leaving with the soldiers for Pitarus is a good offer,” Ada remarks. “ _If_ they’re going to leave afterwards.” She glances at me.

“We won’t run the moment it’s done, but we won’t be kept here either,” I say. “Crance, you secure a transport should we need one. Help Ada and Harrick with the trap as well. For now, I’ll chat with our charming host.”

* * *

**He’s untraceable frequently** , but apparently not to his soldiers’ discontent, rather the opposite. He’s very colloquial – to the Silvers. The Reds on the side don’t know what to do with him but he gains their favour nevertheless.

Under different circumstances, he’d make a useful accomplice, reminding me of Calore. But that won’t happen and Ptolemus’s unnerving habit to vanish for private conversations provides inviting opportunities. I merely need to track him down between such moments.

I wouldn’t hesitate to murder him in his sleep but I doubt to be successful with his skinhealer girlfriend in his bed. She, Wren Skonos, is equally occupied all day, or at least tries to appear so. She’s too proud to follow him like his pet or let her whole tasks here be about him. According to gossip, everyone agrees they make a good couple, even though Ptolemus toasts to his wife Elane and flashes the diamondglass dagger she gave to him as a present. The corners of my mouth twitch at learning he has one himself.

Tonight, we have enough of a reason for toasting. Despite the problems and battles waiting for us, despite the motley company we make at Linton, all of us triumph at the news of the victory in Archeon.

Alexis Samos raises his glass to the future royal couple, Tiberias Calore and Evangeline Samos, and while many cheer, Ptolemus doesn’t share the enthusiasm. I suspect, given the gleam in Alexis’s eyes, that was an intentional jab. He and the other two officers seconded to the North nod to each other, slightly resentful but smug _. Good to know_. 

* * *

**The next morning**  is scheduled tight to the minute. There was hardly time enough to scout for the right location, even less to get Ptolemus there. It had to suffice and it does, so Harrick and Ada can prowl through the mess hall and other crowded places, wearing false faces: Harrick becomes Ada, Ada becomes me while I lurk in the shadows of the barracks.

The schedule loses its meaning as I wait for more than an hour, until my legs cramp hopelessly and shivers rattle my arms. It’s cold only in a T-shirt. My nervousness grows and although I cleared the place, I look for every nail, every wire that might prove fatal for me. Treacherous windows reflect the sunlight and there might always be a witness coming to shatter my faked alibi. I grab my knife tightly. Crance is watching but doesn’t dare to move too close or to stay at one spot. I begin to expect him coming for me to pull me out of the dim corner because this was reckless from the start. My team are volunteers and didn’t speak against the mission nor contradicted me unless to offer improvements, although their faces revealed glimpses of less certain thoughts. They’re caught between obedience, determination and a healthy amount of fear. I am, too. I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to die, but if I allow these thoughts, I’ll only fare worse –

There he is.

He walks the corridor connecting the barracks with the main building’s officer’s quarters, where his seconded captain Christine Samos wants to meet him. I get up, he doesn’t look. He turns at the last moment. “Oh! I didn’t notice you, ma’am.” He grins, confused. Of course he didn’t sense me. No one, least of all a magnetron, expects someone to wear not any shred of metal at all.

My only greeting is my diamondglass knife sinking into his flesh, close to the kidneys. I can’t fully evade his retaliation, the blade forming in his hand cuts my arm. But I’m fast enough while he’s too weak to stop me from taking Elane’s dagger gift from him, spin, and slit his throat with it.

He falls to the ground. I pick up the blade that sliced me and wipe my blood off it and tuck it away. I leave his diamondglass dagger; it looks exactly like mine, scavenged at Corvium months ago. I step away. Gloating never served anyone, and I don’t need any more of his blood sprayed on me. I put my left behind jacket back on and enter the barracks to find Crance.

* * *

**The body doesn’t**  show up, it’s almost funny. Likely Christine Samos searched for him and then hid the corpse, afraid she’d be suspected. Now she, Alexis and Philip protect one another - and take charge. At an assembly before dinner, they don’t talk about the murder at all and pretend Ptolemus is still alive but backpedaled on their mission. The majority of the present troops will still go to Pitarus, but the rest won’t go into the Lakelands; the forces there still up there will retreat to Corvium.

Ada gives me a shove. “We’ll go with those heading to Pitarus,” she hisses. Glares at me.

I shrug, she shakes her head. “Do they just listen to whoever gives them orders, unquestioningly?” she wonders. “No matter who they are?”

This passivity is what makes our aims to difficult to achieve. But that Ada who’s spent so many years in perfect servitude speaks against this gives me a leap of faith.

After a few more minutes when the assembly starts to disperse, Ada gets up and pats my shoulder. “I guess I’ll have to argue about keeping our plane lest someone thinks it strange we give it up so easily, as if we want to stay  _under the radar_ ,” she says. “I’ll fly with it to Corvium as we claimed to aspire in the beginning. Whereas you, General, will still travel with the Samos forces unless you’ve something to hide and to leave as soon as possible?”

I meet her stare, equally fierce. “Careful, Captain Wallace. Don’t presume I don’t know this.” I break the eye contact first. There’s faint brush on my arm, then she leaves.

I believed she agreed with the plan. But all her words drip with the message,  _now I have to save you, General Farley._  She’s right. Even though her worry feels like buoyancy. I only thought of my revenge for Shade, of the heaven taken from Clara and me, that I ignored the impossible danger still looming over us. And I can’t allow to show a shred of that new fear.

* * *

**I agree with**  the slightly traitorous Samos officers to drive one of their cargo transports to an outpost of Pitarus while Ada flies to Corvium to deliver new radio devices to their Northern troops. Then she’ll return us to the Winghill base in Piedmont. I hand over the – real – communication with our soldiers in the Lakelands.

“When they’ve arrived at Corvium,” Alexis Samos says, “we can plan new approaches.” I nod, wondering when he will approach his queen with the death of his prince.

* * *

**We travel for**  two days, including the nights. The Silvers message Pitarus to guide everyone onto safe routes lest someone stumbles into the besieging Lakelanders. With the right equipment, we can see their camps in the distance. Close to the capital, the sun barely up, Crance stops the truck. “The princess Eve!” he calls and Harrick and I spin our heads to her, Evangeline Samos, running across the plain.

I open the door and look at her. She’s distraught and exhausted from whatever she’s run away from. But she doesn’t intend to acknowledge the flaw in her composure.

Her confusion at my presence remains. “Long time no see,” she announces, “I thought all of you were busy with re-taking Archeon.”

“I could tell you about having different operations running at the same time in an organization as large as ours, but that would be classified information,” I reply.

“Where are you going? I know you can say that, or you wouldn’t have stopped for me.” Whatever bothers her, it has no impact on her wit.

“To your next outpost;” I say after a pause. “We bring your truck there, then go back on our own plane.”

“Take me with you.”

“Excuse me?” Did I hear that right?

“I need to get away.”

Apparently. “You don’t even know where – ”

“I. Do. Not. Care. I can’t stay here.” She glares at me so intense Crance comments on it sarcastically in my back. “I killed Anabel Lerolan and need to hide.”

“Why should we help you, a criminal?” Crance says. I stop him. I should agree with him, how can I want her with us? But this seems like the better distraction.

“You’d be as good as a hostage with us,” I say.

Evangeline snorts. “Oh, I understand perfectly.”

But she knows nothing, not even about her brother’s death or that she’s taking refuge with his murderer. She mentions her relief at his final arrival at Pitarus so she won’t be missed there.

“I’ll miss Elane though,” she says.

“I’m not talking about your broken heart,” I say. “That is … incredibly low on my list of worries. What has Anabel Lerolan done to you?”

“I never trusted her, unlike your friend Tiberias. She’d never let us remain independent,” she explains. “She’d have found a way to remove my brother only to claim the Rift as a part of Norta again.” Something’s off about her story, she appears too calm about the murder. What an irony, I’m the one to talk here.

Then Harrick chokes on his water. I give him a warning stare. “Sorry, General.”

“That is unfortunate, princess,” I say. “All plans will have to be changed, so much negotiated anew.”

Evangeline shrugs. Harrick’s whole body language says,  _how lucky you are, General._  I know. I feel guilt at lying to Evangeline Samos, although she’s been insufferable like her brother, and hardly supports our cause, like her whole house. But she loves her family like I do.

* * *

**All I want**  is to hug Clara. I’ve made it out alive, I have an important hostage who managed to remain hidden while we switched vehicles, and yet, the situation stays impossible. Now I can wait for her vengeance on me.

It doesn’t improve when we land at Winghill base. I know where to put Evangeline by now but it’s trouble to explain her to the soldiers waiting for us. The moment she’s taken care of, Lieutenant Cross becomes insistent. “General, we’ve news from the River House,” he says. “The hostages, the Piedmont prince and princess, have been freed last night. Our people were killed – ”

“Damn.” I groan. “We’ll have to clear this place.”

“General?”

“Did I misspeak? The base is no longer secure. Take what you can and prepare an evacuation.” Another groan. “I hope we’ll have enough time to do this without rushing or causing a panic.”

He salutes and gets moving while I tell Harrick, Crance and Ada. She wants to prepare the next flight, necessary now, but I stop her. “You need a break as well.”

She hugs me. “What eventful days, Farley.”

“Indeed,” I whisper.

* * *

**The Barrows already**  know when I arrive, and they scurry to the door, burning with questions. “All will be well,” I say, “there’s enough time!”

Ruth’s about to contradict me but I ignore her, ungrateful as I am. I want nothing more than to go upstairs and take a nap. I need to see my little girl. She wakes when I pick her up and it confuses her, before she switches to giggling.

She almost makes up for all this. Almost. Feeling her breath and her heartbeat calms me more than everything else. I cry nonetheless.

“I avenged Daddy, Clara,” I whisper to her. “You’ll never have to see his murderer.” Her childish ignorance is bliss, compared to my sobs. “I love you. I loved Daddy so much. But this revenge, it means nothing. It doesn’t bring him back.”

* * *

**_A/N 2:_ ** _I apologize if the crime element is bullshit. I am not able to write a perfect crime. I tried my best but if you think Farley doesn’t deserve to get away with this silly plan, blame me. The thing is, as I don’t like prison break/saving from execution scenes, I have to let her get away with it._ _For the most part :-}_

 


	18. Mare

**Mare POV**

**It’s already December**  when it’s deemed peaceful enough to allow travel again. The local Silver lords have drawn back to their residences and strongholds and cooperate reluctantly, under the assumption they can keep what they have. For now. I tell myself as much. All current negotiations will only remain  _for now_. While King Tiberias VII’s whereabouts are only rumours and Anabel Lerolan’s reported as missing, Premier Davidson has taken the lead over the region around Archeon. Lady Larissa Welle, the greenwarden providing our food, is his new supreme Silver ally. The Samos are occupied with themselves and their own disputes, we are told, and I suspect keeping them away from the capital was part of Farley’s very important secret mission.

When it comes to Tiberias, I believe no news is better than bad news, be they concerning his death or his ascension. There can’t be a monarchy without a king and no one dares to claim the throne for themselves as long as Tiberias’s fate is uncertain. The ignorance is bliss and works in our favour.

The same would be true for Maven. People whisper about him and Iris Cygnet like about his brother but they know nothing. His birthday passes and I hope he celebrates it in his unmarked grave.

I wish I was so sure during my nightmares when he appears to haunt me, to take me away, lock me up, and present Tiberias’s dead body to me.

Davidson, his operatives and the Guard members are very good at calming the rest of the half-homeless population of Archeon and find occupations for them, so the rumours don’t gain even more power. As if, when they keep up their pretend long enough, people will simply accept a new system.

As if breaking down a few walls and buildings was enough to destroy centuries of oppression. I’d like to believe it, too. Like Kilorn, Saraline, Grace and sometimes even Tyton. But it’s been almost a month and I’m fed up with clearing, rebuilding and sweet-talking to civilians.

The operatives I met directly after the battle, Sorata Ives and Hope Lerolan, are the most determined to procure for the civilians. “They make a good team,” Saraline remarks. “It would be so funny to see them walk around hand in hand”. I frown at her and she adds, “she hates the ability in her hands, and his hands could take it away.” Then she toys awkwardly with one of her tight black curls, like she said too much. “He’s a Newblood who can steal abilities.”

It’s an ability that makes me both curious and wanting to stay away from him.

I’ve had a few distance calls with my family from their new safe house and finally, Farley told me, she’ll come here by train to start visiting the outer regions of Norta. I can’t wait to leave the capital I hate. I won’t be here to see Tiberias VII return in full glory and regalia – it’d shatter my heart or I’d skewer his.

Kilorn doesn’t intend to let me go without him but we’re almost the only ones. Saraline and Grace will stay, stressing the importance of controlling the capital I came to despise more than a year ago. Maybe they’ll see happier times here, if their flirting evolves into a date among the ruins, or even a relationship.

For now, Saraline wishes me luck and hopes to see “Diana’s baby” during Farley’s short stay.

* * *

**I’m surprised this**  is actually possible, that Farley does have Clara with her. As well as my brothers, Ada, Sara, Julian, and a host of about a hundred soldiers and other Guard members. I hug both Bree and Tramy for a whole minute and still I’m disappointed not to see Gisa and our parents. Of course, they stayed behind, but I believe their presence would’ve taken the edge off me that I feel rising up again like the constant storm inside me.

* * *

**The train waits**  only for three hours before it rolls again. Kilorn and I share a cabin with Sara and Julian and his collection of books and papers from the Piedmont base.

Julian doesn’t have to ask me twice to help him reading through the nearly endless pages crammed in the cabin. Julian doesn’t say much not related to the research, but his demeanour reminds of the time when I first met him. There’s something reluctant, almost shameful about him. He doesn’t mention his nephew, but when he talks, he insists how important it is to support in Guard in other ways than fighting. I wonder what he’d say to Tiberias. I wonder if he feels the disappointment as I do.

Kilorn tries to assist as well and reads titles and headlines aloud, according to his skills. But the tasks he can’t help with bore him. I could try to train reading and writing with him for a while, I realize, but Julian’s texts  _are_  captivating. Finally, I see information about the blood divide in other countries and even continents.

“I had this Silver girl, Ms. Ventos, assist me,” Julian says. “But the general insists we – the Silvers, the Newbloods –  don’t stay together the whole time and mix up instead.”

“Ms. Ventos’s coming with us and stays in the general’s cabin,” Sara adds. “Apparently she’s good source of intelligence.”

I look up. “How that’s possible?” I gesture. “We’re  _on a train_.”

Sara chuckles. “Ask them yourself. Hasn’t the general briefed you yet?”

I cross my arms. “I suppose the journey offers enough time for that,” I claim although I find myself agreeing with her. I should know what’s going on here.

Sara rises. “Well then, first I’d like you to meet someone.”

* * *

**Sara tells me**  she’s been looking after the hostage Farley brought back from her last mission. I wonder if this person makes up for the lost “cooperation” with Piedmont. Yet I’m still bothered by the idea of hostages, by taking prisoners to gain favours and alliances. It makes me shudder. So I don’t hesitate at the chance to see such a hostage and their living conditions for myself.

“There she is,” Sara announces and yet she waits a moment before she unlocks the wooden door. “Take a look first,” she tells me quietly. “She sulks usually, but the general is afraid what she’ll do once she stops sulking.”

Indeed a sound advice. Because in the cabin – rather a cell – lies Evangeline Samos on a small bed.

Waiting a moment myself, I cross the threshold. Evangeline gets up, unusually slow.

“You looked shocked,” she says, and flicker of amusement glimmers in her eyes.

“I expect the feeling to be mutual,” I reply. She nods. I don’t intend to be deceived by her relaxed appearance. I search for metal in the cabin and on her body. I can’t find it but it has to be here. She wears only leggings and a black hoodie that could hide anything.

But the first sign of her ability is a tickle on my skin, caused by a vibration of the metal buttons on my trousers. I curse quietly.

“How nice of you to bring some steel back in here,” Evangeline purrs with her eyes closed.

“I can’t believe you ended up here,” I say.

“No need to mock me, Barrow. I’m here on my own terms.”

“Excuse me?”

She gets up and walks to me and immediately I call for the lightning in me. Although I’m glad no sparks jump from my fingers. As much I need to defend myself, I know how it is to be a prisoner, and I won’t flash my weapons in her presence.

Evangeline keeps her distance. “I had to get away, you know, Barrow?” she says. “I … killed Anabel Lerolan, and your Scarlet Guard knows the advantage of keeping me alive compared to condemning me.”

Her confession stuns me. But something else clicks into place. Anabel was the major link between the Houses Samos and Calore. She hasn’t shown herself in weeks, and their alliance strained. Now I know the reason.

“So, you intend to stay with us? Support our cause?” I say and imagine how that would be – the steel princess fighting for the Reds, a most strange picture.

She just stares at me. Then shakes her head. “It is so dull.” She pauses. “But … for once, nobody demands anything from me, nor am I at fault for … being passive.”

“Good for you,” I grunt, I can’t avoid it. But her stare doesn’t waver. I look down to escape it.

“Now, why have you come here?” she asks. “Are you only gloating or do you want to tell me something?”

* * *

**“Ptolemus Samos is**  dead. I killed him,” Farley tells me. “That was my mission, and on our return, we picked her up.”

Evangeline has to be completely oblivious about that.  _Don’t presume you know what it was like for me_ , is what I told her before. But those words would have a completely different impact on her. “How … brave,” I say to Farley. “And still you dare to keep Evangeline this close to you? What will she do to you – “

“I’m perfectly aware of the danger,” she interrupts me. She hasn’t lost her bite apparently, even with Clara in her arms.

“Fine,” I reply. “If you say so.”

“Mare, the advantages outweigh the repercussions,” Ada says. “Trust me, I lectured the general about being reckless already.” She’s rewarded with an uncommonly thankful glance from Farley. I receive another one, and I nod to her. I can’t deny that a part of me is relieved to see Ptolemus gone, without having broken my promise to his sister.

I see their cabin is as filled as ours, even more so as Kilorn and Tramy have come here with me. The fourth habitant is indeed the Silver woman Julian mentioned, and my brother kissed her hand when we entered. She’s stunningly beautiful with her smooth brown skin and the shiny black hair around a heart-shaped face but my eyes lock on the sparker bracelet around her left hand. Another burner, I hope not a stray Calore.

“I think Ms. Barrow should know about the happenings inside Whitefire,” she says, and turns to me. “Or don’t you want to?”

Of course I do. She – Lacey Ventos – informs me that an assassin was supposed to murder Maven. “But she was interrupted by Tiberias who also injured her,” Ventos says. “She’s currently with Iris, now the crown princess of the Lakelands. Faring well enough,” she ends. For a moment, I think she wants to say more.

“How do you know about that?” I ask. Actually, her report is dissatisfying. What happened to Tiberias and Maven? Why would Iris stay with his almost-murderer? And why would Tiberias stop his assassin?

Ventos doesn’t reply, only looks to Farley who nods. What a well-trained bird Ventos is. Still, it’s Farley who explains. “Her cousin can talk to people in their dreams, despite the distances.”

“As long as they’re related by blood,” Ventos adds. “The assassin is his sister, he learned of this from her and then told me.” I cringe at the idea, no matter how useful it must be. Having Samson Merandus cut through my brain was horrible enough.

“And that leaves us doing what?” Kilorn asks.

Farley smiles. “I’d like to hunt after the Calores as much as I presume you do, but first we’ll go to New Town. I’ve heard the techies staged a successful uprising and chased away the Silvers.”

That’s finally some good news to hear, along with the promise to see Cameron and Rafe again there.

 


	19. Mare

**Mare POV**

**The train tracks**  don’t lead into New Town directly, so we drive into the city by transports provided by the techies. The train stops, and we step onto a platform already filled with people, armed citizens of New Town. Of course, they have weapons enough as they built them themselves here, and they have to make sure this visit isn’t a trap. Who doesn’t fear our newfound and brittle freedom will be short-lived? We carry our own weapons as well, although more hidden.

Farley and Ada go to meet the leaders of the welcoming host and we start moving. Once again, my gaze travels over our party going into New Town. Mostly Red Guards, a few Newbloods, no Silvers. I wonder whether Farley will make a secret of our Silver members, which might backfire if it came to light. I also try to find the familiar faces of Rafe and Cameron among the New Town people. I see her a few rows in the back and we wink when we pass each other. I can’t find Rafe though. His green-dyed braids would be the brightest spot on this grey day. Even at noon, winter and smog cloud the sky.

The building declared to be the town hall is as simple and functional as the whole city. It’s located in a quieter area but the factories’ roars of noise and electricity are still omnipresent. The convoy stops and we exit, again with Farley and Ada taking the lead, flanked by techies. In front of the town hall, a woman about 40 awaits us with a small retinue. With her chin-long brown hair and brown skin, she resembles me and my family, but her demeanour is completely different. She greets Farley and Ada in an odd blend of friendliness and business-like resolve. Clearly a person in charge.

“I’m Lea Reeves, the mayor of New Town,” she says. “The town council and I welcome your arrival and our future cooperation.”

But we don’t get to hear what that entails. Her council only meets with Farley and a few more leading Guard officers, the rest of us has to wait in the crowded atrium. It could be frustrating after the showy escort here, yet the techies – not fully relaxed but still – quickly start to interact with the Guard soldiers.

Kilorn and I have secured ourselves a seat on the stairs. “We could look for Cameron,” I say.

“Hmm, indeed…,” Kilorn trails off and freezes, gaping. But his face changes fast into grin. “Rafe!” he calls and jumps up before I can follow his gaze. He waves with his hand.

I struggle up, too, and see Rafe moving towards us. Sparks tickle my skin in anticipation.

Rafe stops one step in front of us and  _looks_. For a moment, Kilorn just looks back, grinning, then he almost stumbles off the stairs to hug Rafe before Rafe notices me as well.

“Great to see you two doing fine!”, he says.

“I think you’ve done even better,” I reply, sharing his good mood. Like Kilorn’s, his presence is always uplifting.

“Yes,” Rafe says, “we did well on our own. But now New Town needs to establish trade again. The Scarlet Guard and Monfort must be interested in buying from here, I assume.”

Kilorn crosses his arms. “I’m starting to wonder how they pay for everything.”

Rafe cocks his head toward the conference room. “Reeves likely wants soldiers and trainers from Monfort and the Guard, people like me.”

“So, will you stay here?” Kilorn ask.

Rafe pats his shoulder. “No.” He looks to me. “Someone has to avenge Ella.”

* * *

**Later on, we**  visit Cameron’s family. Unlike on our first entry, Farley brings Clara along with Kilorn and me, believing this to be a safe trip. I agree, but the city has indeed something eerie. To avoid drawing attention, Farley scheduled the visit during the shift change in the afternoon when the sun’s already setting. So after a while, lots of workers begin to walk the streets along with us but to me, they look like phantoms in the mist before they’re close enough to become clearly visible. The population of New Town varies in appearances and ethnicities but all of them seem like they don’t see the sun very often, be it due to their work hours or to the thick smog bell above us. A few people are as pale like the pages of Julian’s books. But their faces aren’t nearly as depressing as the weather – they’re exhausted but looking forward to their free time. Apart from them, I feel as if the killed and chased off Silver watchdogs and overseers still loom around the corners, although more like ghosts than an actual menace. It is so dim. The smoke’s present almost all the time and the short daytime and fog of winter make the streets even gloomier. Not that it’s really dark. There’re lights everywhere: on the streets, the plazas, the high buildings. They can’t pierce the gloom, but still, they’re almost beautiful, as if the electric lights are trying to replace starlight.

The lights, together with the humming machines around us, stir the electricity inside of me. I desire to either draw the power to me or to shut it down to calm myself. I resist the urge. I think trying to turn off one distant machine at a time would make a good training session.

But the industry complexes are “ours” now, and it’d be very impolite to disturb the Reds’ work here. But I wonder how Rafe fights the temptation while living in this city. Maybe sabotaging the production while the Silvers were still in charge was satisfying enough.

“We’re there,” Farley announces as we reach a certain row of apartment buildings. Kilorn knocks on the door and Cameron opens it, smiling. To my surprise, she hugs all three of us before she leads us in. The apartment is small, smaller than the house we had in the stilts, but very tidy. Her parents wait in the living room, shake our hands and introduces themselves as Andrea and Paul Cole.

“Cameron told me when you’re off-shift but I hope we aren’t disturbing your rest,” Farley says.

Mrs. Cole shakes her head. “We have more free time now but we’re used to make the best of our breaks.” They chat a while, and the Coles are curious about their son Morrey, baby Clara and the general situation. Mrs. Cole calls Farley “Ms. Farley” and it sounds utterly weird in my ears. But they aren’t Scarlet Guard and don’t have to refers to us by our ranks.

“Morrey’s with the rest of the civilians in our care, currently staying in the, umm, east. It’s a safe place, I promise you,” Farley says, then turns to Cameron. “You could go there, too. Or he could come back here.”

Cameron beams to hear of her brother again and her parents smile. But she hesitates to answer. “I’d like to bring him back myself,” she says. “And to see Gi – our group again.”

“I thought you’d like to meet again, us three, your brother and Gisa,” I say, fighting my grin. Farley clears her throat and Cameron blushes. 

“How do you like the new mayor, Lea Reeves?” Farley asks.

“Everyone knows her,” Mr. Cole says. “That’s probably why she managed to take the lead. She’s been a forewoman and representative for us techies before. She worked at the same place as I, and I can say, she  _does_  pay attention to our needs. But she’s used to dealing with and bowing before the Silvers as well.”

“But the Silvers are no longer here, Paul,” Mrs. Cole reminds him.

“Indeed,” Farley agrees, caressing Clara absentmindedly.

“So, we were wondering,” I begin, “how full your stocks are? We’re allied with several members of House Welle who grow food and other goods for us. We could ship them to you as well.”

“That is, if you want to ally with Silvers again, and receive their supplies,” Kilorn adds.

Mrs. Cole shrugs. “Our stocks should last for a while. Our food is produced here and in the outer areas. But why do you ask us? Don’t you talk with Ms. Reeves?”

“We do,” I say. “But there’s no reason why you and the rest of the city shouldn’t know about this as well.”

“That’s true,” Cameron agrees quietly. She bends forward to poke Clara’s cheek. Clara opens her eyes and grabs Cameron’s finger.

Farley chuckles. “She wasn’t asleep at all,” she says. “Would you like to hold her?”

Cameron nods and takes Clara very slowly, very carefully. To her relief, Clara remains confused but calm. “Takes some time to get used to a little one,” Farley comments. “Could you look after her for a while, Cameron? Together with Kilorn and Mare? I need to meet some people again.”

Kilorn nods, I and Cameron as well after a second. Farley says goodbye to the Coles and thanks them for their time before she leaves.

* * *

**“I can’t believe**  Farley’s behaving this polite,” Kilorn remarks chuckling while we go on a walk. “Seems like she grows with her tasks.”

“We all do, but that’s not always a good thing,” Cameron says. She carries Clara and I have to admit she has a good grip on her, despite having less experience with babysitting than Kilorn and I.

“Ma does need to sleep, you know?” she says. “She’s back to work already, although she just got better.

“Was she injured?” I ask.

“Ill. The medics here aren’t bad, but only after we defeated the Silvers, this Newblood woman dared to reveal her ability. Her name’s Myra Mayfair, and she’s actually a medic. She could only help Ma because she knows how to combine surgery and skinhealing.”

“That’s great,” Kilorn says and I’m happy for the Coles, too. And for so many other Reds who’ll regain health because of people like this Myra Mayfair. I kick at a stone. We’re in a more forested place now, to my relief. But I can still feel the buzz of the electricity and shiver with it, as a few trees can’t change that we’re in an industrial area. Even the slight smell of the production lingers here.

“Does she have to work so soon again, Cameron?” I ask.

“Technically, she’s healthy. And we’re all so bleeding used to it.” She sighs. “Maybe we should go away. Maybe my parents will see the new chances. But I suspect they prefer what they know, especially now that they get better pay, can work for themselves and sell for their own profit. Many here think so. Ma and Pa have made sure Morrey’s on the list for company shares as well, like every citizen of New Town.

“But what about you?”

“Me?”

“We don’t hear much news here, Mare. Only that Archeon has fallen, and Maven with it.”

“If you want to know whether Tiberias VII will ascend the throne now, I can’t tell you. He still hasn’t shown up again.” I say it lightly, expecting her to laugh. But she doesn’t, and I feel Kilorn’s worrying gaze behind me. Cameron pats my shoulder.

“Well, I’m very sure he won’t marry Evangeline Samos anymore, so that’s something. Their house is in total chaos.”

Cameron grins. “That’s good to hear.”

For the rest of the walk, Kilorn touches my hand or my back every now and then, and I’m grateful for his attentive reassurance.

* * *

**We stay in**  New Town for a few days so Farley, me and other Guard members can offer the techies to join us, or to move out of New Town. Maybe a sixth decide to leave or to pledge, despite holding shares of the factories as a reward for taking part in the uprising. Mayor Reeves watches these gatherings with a neutral expression. Apparently, she came up with making the employees the owners of the New Town factories, so they’ll receive a cut of the earnings and have a say in the management. Yet Reeves and her councillors will have to find ways to reorganize production with people leaving or taking new assignments, like in the defense of New Town. Although I doubt she’d want to quarrel with the Scarlet Guard about giving her people free choices.

* * *

**Cameron and Rafe** come with us. Our train drives to Harbor Bay which is currently in unrest. We’ll check on it before we’ll return to the safe base in the east, where the rest of my family stays.

Meanwhile, Farley exchanges news with me and this time, they unsettle me. “Tiberias Calore has finally appeared again,” she says carefully. “Not in Archeon, but in a town close to Harbor Bay, governed by a Silver lord. I’m uncertain whether the lord supports him as king, and Calore left again with a number of troops.”

I don’t reply and Farley doesn’t prod me for an answer. I think my face says it all. But Farley waits for me still. “At least we know now that he’s alive,” I mumble.

She nods. “He might come to Harbor Bay, I think. But with Anabel Lerolan gone and the Samos occupied elsewhere, his chances to take the throne have lessened severely. He’d have to find new allies, while the important lords all made new arrangements.”

A foolish part of me likes to think such bad timing has to be intentional.  “You hope for a lot,” I say to Farley, “Tiberias and these lords are still a problem.”

“It depends. With the Silver lords now running to govern and secure their own provinces, Norta might not be ready for a new king, of House Calore or whichever. Rather points to a federal system.”

“The we can fight to depose local Silver rulers one by one for years, Farley.”

“Yes.” She sighs. “But that’s the likeliest road to victory, as long as we can establish Red governors and democratic representation as well.”

* * *

**I’ve read the**  reports on the Harbor Bay fights but the day we arrive, I’m unprepared to see the city on fire. Fortunately, the train drives into town and yet we just make it to the bunkers before bomb warnings get around. Farley urges me to take Clara and go lower. Then she’s off and I can’t ask her why she doesn’t come with us. I trust her to keep herself safe but sometimes, I suspect her position goads her to presumed valour.

“Or your mama told me to protect you so I take care of myself instead of joining the fights,” I say to Clara, who answers with a yawn.

I have to wait in a hall to enter the huge bedroom of the bunker when someone taps on my shoulder.

“What a surprise,” Evangeline Samos says, her eyes moving between the baby and me.

“Again, the feeling is mutual,” I say. “Who let you out?”

“Barrow, I could hardly stay in the train when bombs are exploding. If you guys wanted me dead, I’d be so already.”

“How trusting you are.”

She shrugs. Her offhand words and tone don’t seem true but I remember all too well how helpful pretending can be. I do it constantly. “And who’s your companion?” she asks. She sounds actually curious beneath her mopishness.

“My niece.” I feel the sudden urge to protect Clara. “My brother asked me to take care of her.” Better if she thinks Clara’s the child of one of my  _living_  brothers, not Farley and Shade’s. Farley tries to keep her daughter a secret from her enemies and uncertain allies like Evangeline. What if she finds out what Farley’s done to her brother? What if she wants revenge? Memories of another dead baby girl threaten to rise up in my mind.

My answer isn’t saucy enough to claim Evangeline’s attention. She points to the bedroom. “I hope there’re enough beds in there,” she says.

“I wouldn’t like to share a mattress with you either.”

But the bedroom isn’t as crowded as feared. Not that she leaves me alone. She takes a bed next to me and when the sirens wail and Clara starts to cry, Evangeline laughs. I search for Clara’s toy, her milk bottle, anything, and she laughs on. “I like this child,” she announces. “She’s already aware how fucked up this world is.”

“Who isn’t?” I retort. Yet once I manage to calm Clara, Evangeline is no more in a mood for banter than I. Like everyone else, we wait for the explosions to end, and to see familiar faces.

After a while, Bree, Cameron and Kilorn find us, along with Tramy and Ms. Ventos. The Silver catches Evangeline’s eye immediately, a gaze she doesn’t return. Bree takes Clara from me, already joining the play to fool Evangeline.

After three hours, we’re finally allowed to leave the bunker. Chaos awakes though, and I take hold of Evangeline when she tries to rise. I’m closer to her than ever before.

She thrashes. “Barrow, what? Are you testing your new muscles?”

“Don’t call attention!” In truth, I want to know whether she wears metal beneath the hoodie. But as far as I can tell, there’s only the hardness of lean muscles, not of steel. I smirk and let go. “I was curious to know whether you’re armed.”

She scoffs. “My body is my weapon. Like yours is.”

“That’s true,” I say, holding her stare. Of course, our show did demand attention. Kilorn looks between Evangeline and me, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. And maybe fear. “Girls are weird,” he mutters to himself.

Cameron and my brothers bob their heads in agreement. Then Kilorn jerks his head and curses. I turn in the same direction and see Tiberias VII walking through the hall. 

 


	20. Mare

**Mare POV**

**Evangeline laughs. It’s**  a shrill, pretentious sound, and its overstatement calls such attention from those around her that for a moment, I feel like it blots out the noises of the unrest in the shelter.

Tiberias winces. Yet his eyes fall on me, lock on me, and I stare back. I like to unsettle him. Evangeline’s switched to snickering when Farley dashes to us behind Tiberias. She slows as she arrives, searching for Clara in Bree’s arms. There’s a change in her demeanour that tells of her urge to go to her child and comfort her after the stress of the evacuation. That vanishes quickly. She stops mid-step, falling back into the general’s role as she scans us with hard eyes.

There isn’t much to see, as we’re still left stunned and frozen by Tiberias’s arrival, apart from Evangeline’s faux amusement. It makes me angry, he shouldn’t be able to unhinge us like that. I step forward with a  _clank_ , a sound that makes time move again, breaking the spell over us. “Is the town safe now?” I ask with all haughtiness I’ve learned from Bess Blonos and the princess next to me.

Tiberias nods, Farley speaks. “Calore heroically fought against the bombs he could find. And even located some culprits. Commoner Silvers, this time.”

“They are most of the times,” Tiberias says. They’re his first words and I expect them to sound rough, husky, as if he was silent during the weeks I didn’t hear his voice. How stupid of me.

“I assume you’re experienced with the situation, then?” Farley asks him. “It’s good to know that burners are helpful in this kind of thing.”

“Lady Ventos could assist me the next time,” he says, nodding to the Silver woman behind me. “I fear this will happen again.”

“I’m no lady,” Ventos snaps. “There’re no ladies or lords among us.”

Evangeline rolls her eyes but doesn’t start her chuckling again. She tries to hide her insecurity but doesn’t dare to meet my eyes, or those of her betrothed.

Tiberias disregards her likewise. “It’d be nice if that was true,” he says to Ventos. “Unfortunately, there’re many lords and ladies vying for control of Harbor Bay.”

“And you’re here to tame them?” I inquire. “I want to see that.” It’s not a rhetorical question. I move closer to him, noticing Kilorn’s worried gaze from the corners of my eyes – and Tiberias’s shock. That rather contents me. Just like Evangeline whose smugness is suddenly a lot more real.

* * *

**His earring blinks**  red in the only ray of sunlight I see this day. He still wears it, the earring he gave me and which I returned by piercing him myself. He looks behind himself, to me, certainly noticing how I watch him although I try to hide its intensity. The corners of his mouth twitch and I think if I see his grin again, I’ll run away. But it hardly evolves into amusement. These days – weeks – have hardened him. Is he the same man who tried everything to free me from my imprisonment? The one who sat with me in the Bowl of Bones’ cell? The commander prince –

He strides like one for certain. But he’s less regal now, a little slouching, dragged, as if some part of the depression laying over the city sunk into him. And we aren’t even in the worst sectors yet. The streets are still empty, as people are reluctant to leave their houses apart from those coming back from the bunkers. But those are from other quarters, and Farley and Kilorn finding shelters for those left homeless with comrades from Harbor Bay.

“You know very well where the explosions where,” I state.

Tiberias is startled, causing a break in his stride. He glances at me for a second before focusing ahead once again.

A few people look at us, the two from the rumours. The crown prince and the Red rebel enwrapped in an illicit love affair. If they think we’re back at that, I find myself not caring. Six months as a prisoner and actress for propaganda did that to me.

“Farley told you I tried to deactivate the bombs,” he says.

“And, did you? Are you an expert at bomb deactivation?”

“Only in stopping the explosions and decreasing their radii.” He cackles and turns to me. “That would be an actually good idea, Mare. I don’t have to fear failure while training.”

The words – my name – are a bait I don’t fall for. “But I hope you found the culprits as well,” I say.

“A group of Silver commoners. I could only arrest two of them, the rest got away.”

“Can’t you find them again?”

“Probably. They’re known in Harbor Bay’s underworld and been up to no good for weeks.”

Oddly, this wakes memories of the last time we were in this city, when Crance brought us in and Maven branded me. I resist the urge to touch the scar, to even think of it. “So, you have your sources here? A royal lowering himself into the ugly shadow business?”

He fastens his gait. “The commoner Silvers did it before. There’s always been business between them and the gangs, but only about some forbidden goods. Then the governor here was murdered and a scapegoat was found. A Red, claimed of being a gang member who was executed afterwards. Only he wasn’t a criminal. And the unrest here started for real. Control had lessened everywhere after … you were freed and the Rift declared their independence.

“In Harbor Bay, the rest of the city council fled or went into hiding. Now the Silver commoners try to take hold of both the underworld and the city proper. There’ve been fights between new and old gangs. That is a minor issue, though,” Tiberias claims and I snort. I wonder what’s so  _proper_  about the Silver parts of the city.

“The real problem are the weapons showing up currently,” he continues. “Those are military gear, from Harbor Bay’s own arsenal.”

“Meaning the Silvers holding them are taking a side,” I conclude. “Or staging their own coup.”

“Exactly.” The buildings around us are becoming more and more destroyed, the farther we go. It’s not a living quarter, but the administrative sector, and its air is still filled with dust and smells burned. I check my lightning, preparing for further attacks. They don’t come though the sight of Harbor Bay’s royal palace, Ocean Hill, at the center of the sector doesn’t lift my dread. Yet it’s Tiberias’s goal and I follow. Once he told me it was built for his mother but it has nothing of a queen’s holiday residence anymore. Unlike the buildings around it, it hardly shows damage, only a few marks in its steel and concrete façade. Again, I have to think of Coriane Jacos, a woman who lost herself under the burdens of Norta’s crown. Did her heart become as heavy as her palace? Or is it the heart of her son, the soldier king-to-be who locks away his feelings?

“I’ve heard nothing of Harbor Bay,” I say. “Neither in Piedmont nor in Archeon.”

He opens the gates. “Strange, given how vital Harbor Bay is. But every town, every region, fends for itself now.”

It disturbs me that he says the same as Farley – although it shouldn’t. He’s doing his job. His bleeding, awful job. I stop in the front of the stairs under the doors that he’s already climbing.

“Why have you vanished, Tiberias?” I say. “Archeon, Whitefire and the throne were yours for the taking.”

He turns and stares. I’m tempted to say more, voice all the things I’ve pondered on in the last weeks, but I stay quiet. I won’t give him possible excuses and explanations, he has to think for himself. He does so visibly. His lips quiver, his eyes burn, finding mine with a begging intensity. I’ve asked a question, but he’s asking me something as well. For trust, maybe. Not only for mine, which he won’t get, but, as I realize when a shadow of doubt falls over his face, his own in me too.

“I didn’t want to marry Evangeline,” he says finally, thus stomping out the tiny flame I felt kindling a moment ago. “She wouldn’t ever have wanted me but couldn’t deny her family about it,” he adds.

I laugh. Louder and harsher than Evangeline did, so it fills the dull gray sky above us. I believe he means it. Yet it’s a blatant omission of his true reasons and the following scowl on his face is proof, and a pleasing sight. It’s like a cold coffee, distasteful, hardly enough, but still serving its purpose. “How considerate of you, Tiberias. Truly, I’m impressed how much Evangeline’s feelings concern you. Unlike mine.”

It’s even better to see this arrow hit its mark, and the devastation and shame in his eyes. Although it cools my heart even more.

“I care about you, Mare Barrow,” he claims, not too proud to contradict me. A part of me is glad he thinks it’s necessary to insist on it.

“You should rather show me,” I say. “You say the Red and Silver gangs fight. What do you do about that? Do you work with the Red Watch?”

For a second, relief washes over him because I’ve switched the topic. However, he turns sombre quickly. “The Red Watch’s house was the one attacked today.”

I  _hmph_. I jump up the stairs and open the doors in his place. Where’s all the security gone? The palace seems positively evicted. “Now I really hope you find the culprits.”

“I – I’m working on it. There’re the two arrests today, and the contacts in the gangs. However, the Silvers … I can’t trust their reports.”

“What an observation. You want the Merandus’ back?” The foyer is still lush and luxurious. Tiberias, finally catching up with me, points down a corridor. “Maybe you need better interrogators,” I say.

“Maybe I need to give the Silvers something,” he replies.

“ _Maybe_  your lot has had enough already.” I stop to face him. “ _Maybe_ all you should promise them are their lives and freedom in exchange for their cooperation.”

He doesn’t object again. He nods. “You realize you admit I have power here,” he says.

“And you should use it for good. Promote the Red Watch. Declare the alliance with the Scarlet Guard, again. Give Farley command – “

“You think I haven’t considered that myself? It won’t work, Mare. I can’t hand over rule, the Silvers won’t have it. They only accept rule taken by power and strength – “

“Don’t interrupt me ever again, Tiberias Calore,” I say with all calmness I can find when a storm forms in my guts. I don’t care where he wants to take me any longer. Every second in his presence only raises old issues. His fake understanding paired with utter conservativeness and resignation. He unravels me and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand this place.

I take off. I walk down corridors where I might’ve murdered people and ran for my life. Portraits of Calores and their ancestors and allies look down on me and I wonder of Tiberias feels cosy here, if he re-hung his mother’s image as well. Does he like it here, does he like to feel royal, powerful, and probably welcome again? I, for sure, know I’m not welcome here. These walls want to exile me, and if not that, chain and incarcerate me. With its red and gold colours, the palace is nothing like Whitefire, I tell myself. There’s no Maven. No Arvens, no manacles. My lightning is proof of it, as is the flickering of the lightbulbs I pass. Yet my breathing fastens and my sight fails, red paint turning into bloodstains.

Tiberias runs to me, calling my name in dimmed sounds I can barely hear. All I want is to get out before I really faint. Stumbling, I take step after step with my blackening sight until I can taste the sticky city air again. I sit down, crouching and hugging myself. What has happened?

Slowly, I try to calm my breathing, let my eyes rest. I know Tiberias is near. His hand is on my back, warm and steadying. I would’ve pulled away in another situation but I remain still, too exhausted to move at all.

His palm is gone the second I straighten. I still don’t dare to rise. Perhaps I’d fall down on weak legs. “You see, I could never be your queen,” I murmur, and my confession already feels like a concession, a weakness.

“So, are you going to declare yourself king in your mother’s palace if you don’t dare to in Archeon? Even though Evangeline is here, there’s no Anabel to make you marry now.”

Cruelty is my only crutch. His grief, for his mother and grandmother, is tangible. Yet he doesn’t leave me. I could tell him to sod off but what I want is to prompt him to finally say he won’t become king.

He doesn’t do that either.

 


	21. Mare

**Mare POV**

**I don’t return**  to the palace.

I don’t return to the palace but I can see Tiberias’s plans set into motion nonetheless. Silvers – common and noble – are paraded into the administrative sector and the residence, in trickles but still in a showy manner. Arrested in all but name. Apparently, Tiberias is successful, and this is what he transmits in the meetings I attend and the Guard officers I trust tell me the same.

Julian takes part too. He halves his time between research and advising his nephew, to my surprise. I thought he’d be a shadow minister like Samson was to Maven, one who gets involved in as much politics as possible. But Julian doesn’t, and whenever he’s with Tiberias, I see the dim flicker of disappointment in Julian’s eyes, an emotion he’s displayed for months. I don’t witness him calling out his nephew but I’m sure he does, if only in private.

Even though Tiberias doubted the cooperation would work, Farley and her officers don’t let themselves be excluded and demand their places in the proceedings. Ada is especially committed, originating from Harbor Bay herself. She presides in interrogations and the trials that follow and she’s glorious to watch. The witnesses and accused quiver before the confidence of her infallible mind. Their testimonies aren’t nearly as poised as they contradict themselves sooner or later. At first, Ada relies on the evidence brought before her, but her memory leads much more back – she’s seen more things than were written down in the last weeks, she’s been a witness of Harbor Bay’s upper class and their wrongdoings her whole life and now she can finally speak up.

Unlike Ada, I begin to grin vindictively at more than one occasion. Farley does too, and I thinks it’s the first time I see her smile at someone else but Clara.

* * *

**Of course, the**  reorganization and investigations take time, weeks that soon become months. It’s not what Cameron came here for, and she says so.

“We need to communicate with our Montfort allies in Archeon either way,” Farley answers her. “That and provisions. You can jump on that train, Cameron, and go to our civilian base. I won’t break my offer to unite you with your brother.”

Cameron grins. “You better not disappoint.”

Kilorn jabs me with his elbow. “What about us, Mare?” he asks. I merely shrug.

But my brother asks me the same thing later that day. “I want look after Gisa and Mom and Dad, before I escort our visitors from Archeon,” Bree explains. “Don’t you want to see them too?”

“I’m a soldier of the Scarlet Guard,” I say. “My place is where I’m needed.” I’m dissembling extremely, and stun Bree with my brusqueness. I soften my expression and smile at him. “Hey, I’ll miss you,” I say, go on my toes and hug him. His embrace sweeps me completely off my feet. Despite his size, Bree’s always been the touchy one among us. Tramy is less emotional, cooler and more closed. But he doesn’t go away either, I learn. He stays in Harbor Bay, with Lacey Ventos who helps Tiberias protect the population and who’s the woman Tramy loves. They don’t talk much about it, nor show it, yet some moments they share make their infatuation undeniable.

Lacey’s burner ability is still needed. The assaults and fights became less frequent for some time after our arrival but that changed soon enough. The administrative sector continues to be the main target but now that there are enemies, the insurgents can focus on personally. Farley gets shot with three bullets in her leg and it takes two hours before Sara can look at her, two hours filled with fatalistic jokes of Evangeline manufacturing her an artificial leg. Tiberias has to fend off more than one would-be assassin, one Red among them, and I can’t even blame her.

That woman could’ve been the end of the cooperation, to be honest. She could’ve been me. It’s strange enough to talk about rebels and insurgents when we’re ones ourselves, when the assassin is as unable to accept another Calore as king as we are. So she remains in the palace’s prison and I feel like a traitor.

“Announce that you won’t become king,” I tell Tiberias the night after her trial. “Do it and we’d half the problems we have now. Do it and I’ll call you ‘Cal’ again.”

Helplessly, he looks at me. “I won’t be king, Mare,” he whispers eventually. “You see it won’t happen now. But to announce it, that would mean …” he shrugs.

“I know!” I snap. “’The Silvers won’t listen to me anymore’,” I imitate him. I turn on my heel to leave but he touches my shoulder to hold me back. I groan.

“Please,” I hear him say behind me.

I remain still, to bait him. “Whenever you say ‘please’, Tiberias, you don’t seem regal at all,” I say, stepping away from him to finally go into my bed.

* * *

**When I prowl**  the streets, I meet fear and awe equally, as well as the unavoidable indifference of those just wanting to go on with their lives. Harbor Bay, like most Nortan cities, has been fed its share of propaganda in the last one and a half years. I can still see the remains of the old posters, some announcing the measures and the dangers of the Scarlet Guard, others celebrate Maven’s ascension and offer rewards for finding me, the fugitive Lightning Girl and “her” traitorous prince.

Now those posters are rotting, more sludge than paper, and the Guard starts to pin up their own posters over them. They’re rather plain, informative texts making offers to the inhabitants and promises for Norta’s future. I wish the past was really as easy to change as the writings and posters on the wall, now dissolving from rain and the snow falling lately. But you can’t paste over memories and scars.

The current announcements completely omit House Samos. No news come from the Rift, whether old or recent. The streets are devoid of their names, at least as far as I can tell. I don’t know what’s talked about behind closed doors, and the inhabitants of Harbor Bay aren’t supposed to be aware of the metal princess dwelling in the belly of the residence. Does she still linger in a cell, depressed and missing her girlfriend along with the brother about whose demise she doesn’t know?

* * *

**I return to**  the town hall and don’t find my friends in the building, but in the small garden between it and the residence.

“Careful!” Kilorn shouts. I take a step aside, unconsciously, and a snowball crashes against my neck.

I curse, realizing Kilorn’s call was a ruse to distract me and make this hit.  _He cheers_. “You asked for it, Warren!” I shout and shape my own snowball. He starts running, then throws a ball against Tramy. My brother is better prepared to dodge and the moment Kilorn’s thrown, I let my own charge loose, hitting his arm.

_I_  cheer.

“There’s another player?” Farley asks, more than slightly annoyed. She kneels in the snow, a little away. “I mean, hi Mare, was your patrol successful?”

“Uneventful.”

“However, would you please take care not to hit Clara?” she reminds us. She isn’t involved in the snowball fight but building a snowman with Clara watching next to her. Only the baby isn’t satisfied with watching as she crawls around despite the thick clothing her mother wrapped her into, intended to sabotage Farley’s masterpiece to get her attention.

The scene distracts me from Kilorn’s next attack; I dodge by falling down on my tailbone. The snow’s cold and wets my clothing and despite the pain I have to laugh, relieved to find myself in this peaceful moment. Kilorn comes to help me up and Tramy goes back to Lacey, his girlfriend. She sits on the stairs of the town hall and I wonder whether she dislikes the cold or is afraid of melting the snow away. How was it for Tiberias last year? I never got to ask him that. Standing up, I glance around as if I could catch his sight. My eyes stray to the doors of the residence, now open with a person lingering there, someone with light hair.

I pull away from Kilorn, moving over to who has to be Evangeline. She shouldn’t see this. She shouldn’t be here at all. I wish she’d go back to her home.

“What a rare sight,” I say to her.

She shrugs. “I told you I’m here on my own terms.” Although her appearance doesn’t match her confident words. Her hair’s loose and still wavy from her usual braids and it’s like she let down her shields, even more so as her baggy clothing lacks any vanity. Before, I thought about what a “pale” Silver would look like, when blood leaves their faces. They always seem bloodless, cold and bluish compared to Reds. Now I know. Evangeline’s skin looks like it’s filled with shadows, her light, Elane, gone.

“I wasn’t sure you have a similar bargain with Tiberias,” I say, shaking off my pity.

“That’s why I’m here, Barrow. I need to talk to him.” I was right. The princess is back and doesn’t need commiseration. “Bring me to him,” she demands.

“He wasn’t in the residence?” I inquire.

She shrugs again. I do my best to obscure her view of the garden and think of the underground corridor connecting the residence and the town hall where Tiberias has an office. I tap on her arm to get her moving and fifty meters in, the panic I tried to ignore is back. I flinch and focus on the way ahead, looking only at my feet and the stairs to the underground corridor. It’s better down there, once I know we left the palace itself.

* * *

**Tiberias stands over**  his desk and greets us before he looks down again, clearing his throat for several seconds. When he raises his head, he avoids my sight with uncanny concentration. Maybe I should leave them alone. But he can tell me so himself.

Evangeline struggles with her words. “I thought I should offer my condolences,” she says. “For your grandmother.”

Tiberias raises his eyebrows. “Do you? I guess so. Indeed, we have things to talk about, and it’s time to share our knowledge,” he says, piqued and aloof. "I’ve been wondering, why was my grandmother murdered, Your Highness? Did you have your own political agenda, or did you believe her responsible for your brother’s death?”

His question fills the room with silence. He realizes quickly what a mistake he made and his face falls, even before Evangeline can grasp what he said.

I’d like to undo the last seconds as well.

It takes her long to understand, to overcome her innate denial. Once she does, she has no words on her own but only the metal and her ability to speak for her.

The room heats uncomfortably as Tiberias calls on fire to keep her pins and needles, pens and nails turned into missiles, away from him and me, until I can send a mild shock at her, strong enough to knock her out.

 


	22. Evangeline

**Evangeline POV**

**I’m surrounded by**  silence. I can sense no metal in the wood-panelled room I was put in, and its luxury is pure derision. Silence Stone lines the walls, as subtle as in Maven’s rooms in Whitefire, but numbing still. Maybe it was created exactly to incarcerate magnetrons too exalted to throw into dungeons, perhaps he had this done himself. It’s late for me to wonder about this, given I must’ve been here for days. But the silence of abilities is nothing compared to the void within myself. I’ve been hiding for too long, even  _before_  I knew, but most of the time, I wasn’t bothered. I was too tired to move and I still am. Tired is hardly the right word, it can’t possibly encompass how I feel. Sore, exhausted, depressed, shocked, hurt, grieving. I know the last one should be the most accurate, but it doesn’t seem right to me either. It requires me to admit the pain I’m drowning in. It demands to accept that Tolly is dead.

And this is the only battle I’m fighting now.

* * *

**Even when _she_**  is my cell. The rebel general stands at the door and if I looked up, I’d stare into her cold and hard eyes. I don’t do it, denying her that acknowledgement of her presence. At the same time, I’m ashamed for it. Ignoring her has no honour, sparing your enemy is undignified, a weakness. But in truth, I’ve been weak. Since I learned of my brother’s demise, I’ve needed all my strength to maintain my resolve and keep myself from shattering into pieces. I know Father would call my behaviour a disgrace all the same.

“Are you satisfied now?” I say, my voice raspy after days without use and held-back sobs. I find Farley’s eyes, meeting mine without a reaction. “You won’t get back your lover from killing my brother,” I add, hissing. As much as she tries to make herself an enigma, rumours follow in her wake. I’ve focused on Mare Barrow’s revenge for her own brother, but the Red woman in front of me had as much motivation and acted on it. Tiberias let the information slip, and I realized not Barrow, but General Farley had to be the killer. She took Tolly’s life and now dares to show her face to me, denying nothing.

After lying to me about him for months. I’ve trusted the delusional Scarlet Guard enough to stay with them after the falling-out between my mother and Queen Anabel, and this is my reward: Tolly was murdered by General Farley before I’ve even I left Pitarus and nobody told me about his death – so I might remain cooperative and useful to them.

I should kill her for that. But she appears hardly afraid of me, her icy glare a threat on its own.

“Of course I don’t think that, princess,” she says finally. “That would be stupid. Revenge is useless.”

Like I want to prove the opposite, I jump up, rushing forward, and a headache rises with my attack, caused by my own weariness and the Silent Stone. I stumble and she cackles. “Indeed, you Silvers never learn, never show restraint,” she mocks.

“What?!” I hiss, still struggling for balance but stepping toward her.

“You don’t even notice.” She shakes her head. “You don’t want to know why a Red acts, you just attack and punish when something doesn’t go your way. How presumptive.”

“‘Not my way’? You call murdering my brother in cold blood, 'things not going my way’?!”

Odium replaces the callousness she’s shown me before. She’s eerily calm in contrast to my turmoil. “He killed people too, and didn’t feel anything while doing it. Didn’t care,” she says. “Don’t pretend otherwise, princess, I’ve seen him do it, several times.” She closes her eyes like in the smallest indication of weariness.

“Ptolemus Samos was an acting Silver general and king-to-be and thus a knowing player in a dangerous game. He was an obstacle who would never have cooperated with our cause, so Command decided to assassinate him before he harmed more of his Red 'citizens’.”

I tremble. My sight blurs. But I close the gap between us, approaching her until only half a meter separates us. “Then you are fools,” I utter equally calm and detached. “Now you’ve lost any ally you might’ve found in me, along with everyone else of my house.”

She scoffs but replies nothing. I cackle. “And you keep me prisoner as well! How are you better than Maven again?”

This provokes a gleaming in her eyes, a shift in her stance. “Maybe you’re right, princess,” she concedes. “Might’ve been a grave mistake, just like coming to your cell.” Her glare feels like a challenge, an invitation to turn my cell into her trap, and the prospect of a fight allows me to forget for a moment. I let my battle instincts take over and reach for her face. I want to leave another scar on her face, see her red blood.

My nails cut her, she wavers from my slap, but doesn’t lose her balance as I intended. Instead she stumbles aside and grabs my hand, then twists it against my back to fixate me. Not only startled by her counter attack, the Silent Stone makes me dizzy again, so I almost feel nauseous.

“So, princess,” the general snaps, “you think you alone are suffering, the only one entitled to avenge?” Her grip tightens, her voice becoming louder with each word. “Even if you scared me, you wouldn’t be my sole enemy. I’m surrounded by them. I’ve killed before, and this war will force me to kill again, so retribution might await at any turn. I can’t allow myself to be afraid. But if you try to murder me now, I’ll fight you till my last breath, and my comrades would execute you still, deciding you’re really not worth it.”

Suddenly, she releases me and pushes me away. I fall to the ground but scramble up again immediately. “That won’t matter if I -”

She rushes toward me, towers over me. Blood runs down her chin. I notice her gait is a little uneven, a possible weakness to exploit. “As. I. Said,” she begins, “you Silvers think the world owes you something and thus you abuse Reds, children, everyone, with no remorse, expecting them to grovel in fear. But I won’t have it, not even from you. I will end this.”

“Big words,” I retort.

She steps back and I rise. It’s another duel of glares, but she’s the one to give up first, tilting her head.

“Now, princess, what do you want?”

My resolve shatters, my tautness with it. “Excuse me?”

She doesn’t explain and turns away slightly, like another invitation to attack. I don’t fall for it this time. But a feint isn’t her plan. “I’ve had dreams and wishes too, but they were destroyed again and again. Now … I can only hope it’ll be over soon. Once.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I should assault her again, her threat of punishment be damned. Her words have to be an awful attempt of an excuse, one I shouldn’t care about. I don’t. Yet she’s stung me, hitting a part of me buried deep down which is revealed by grief and raw from it.

_What do I want?_

Elane is my first thought, before I correct myself. Of course I want Tolly back. I wish the lie I’ve lived for months was true, that he came to defend Pitarus with Mother and Elane. I want to ask Mother why she killed Queen Anabel. Really for my sake? I think I want all that happened after the day Anabel came to announce the renewed engagement to Tiberias to be unreal. I wish that Father wasn’t a prisoner in the Lakelands, that he ruled the Rift, in peace, while I –

“You have no answer, princess?” The general pulls me out of my contemplations. I don’t want to let go of those dreams, and thus I stay quiet. She isn’t worth it.

The general turns to leave. Good. Maybe I’ll be fitter, and ready, the next time I see her, so I can finish her off. But she doesn’t do me the favour and hesitates to use her key.

“I acted on orders,” she says, “yet it was still my choice. My guilt.”

The lock buzzes. “Wait,” I utter.

“Hmm?”

“Tell me how he died.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

She  _tsk_ s, moves from the door, but doesn’t come as close to me as before. I see her from the corners of my eyes and wait some seconds to turn to her and meet her gaze.

“I came to his base offering information, and he assumed I was his to command,” she begins. “The next day, I waited for him in a shady corner, having removed all the metals I could find while carrying a special weapon myself. I attacked before he could so much as greet me. I evaded his counter and placed the diamondglass dagger in his stomach.” She pauses. “Then I slit his throat.”

I take a breath. And another. It doesn’t help; I shouldn’t have asked, as she said. I charge, kick against her leg and tackle her. This time, she falls. I sit down astride her, my arm pressed against her neck. It’ll take some minutes, but I can end her this way.

She doesn’t let me, of course. She fights and wriggles, loosening my hold and freeing her hand which she uses for a punch against my temple. It forces me off her.

My head rings. Farley’s up and at the door again and I have to cackle despite my headache. I’ve made her afraid after all, notwithstanding her blatant self-confidence.

“You should let me go!” I shout. “I’ll never help you, and –”

“You’re right.” 

* * *

**In the dead**  of night, the door opens. A bag is thrown at me. “Go if you want to,” she says. I hesitate. Is it really the general? Her words from our last encounter were hardly a promise, and I’ve learned enough intrigue to smell the danger in forged escape attempts.

“Has your bravado left you now, princess?”

No, it is her. I get up. “You could just be trying pin sabotaging acts on me,” I say. “So you can still have me killed with your hands clean.”

She shakes her head ever-so-slightly. I can see Mare behind her, a backup and a threat. “Haven’t you paid attention?” Farley preens. “I don’t care about keeping my hands clean. Go on and leave, no one who cares about you knows you’re here. No one will know you’re gone. There’d be no point in staging a coup from your side.”

I glare, finding an equal in her gaze. “I’ll forget I’ve ever trusted you,” I say. “You shouldn’t trust me, either. One day, I might come for you.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, stretching her scarred skin and the ragged, swollen cut I caused. It is a vicious expression, I cannot call it a smile. Mare is even more tense. “I expect you to do this the moment I turn my back to you,” Farley says.

_Right now. But you’ll die in that case_ , she doesn’t add. I know that already. And for a moment, I don’t even care about my own fate. She notices this, too. Yet she doesn’t move a fraction.

Maybe I wouldn’t even succeed.

Maybe I’ll be as dead as Tolly.

I grab the bag tighter. “It has warm clothing, a bedroll, a few bottles, and some food,” she says. “Stuff you need on the road.”

I shove myself out of her sight, rush along the corridor, exit the first door I see. A night of black, grey and white greets me. Snow covers the streets, flakes falls onto my face. I lift the hood of my jacket, pull it tight, and take the first crunching step into the snow. The icy wind hisses like Father’s taunts and Mother’s snakes, and I welcome it as punishment for my coward instinct to protect my own, pointless life. I should’ve tried anyway. Soon, my tracks are buried again, the cold whiteness restored without a blemish. 

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _In the first version of this, written four months ago, they were on a train. As the story progressed, I had to change that and that’s why I added Silent Stone although I think that makes Eve’s situation too similar to Mare’s and I don’t really like that._ _I hope you’ll forgive me that._

 


	23. Cassandra

**_A/N:_ ** _What a surprise, a super-long chapter again :-p_

**Cassandra POV**

_3 months before_

**The queen drags**  me to the palace’s bunkers. Only when we’re inside do I notice these aren’t the rooms for the royals and nobles, but those for everyone else, the commoners and servants, big but not big enough, as I remember. I can’t say why we’re here. I can’t think much at all. I’m burning up, the charred flesh on my left side tearing with every movement. I’ve trained for this, got up despite my aches and injuries so often, yet now I feel like I’m in hell. If Iris didn’t hold me up, I’d fall. I shouldn’t lean on her that much, it can’t be good for her baby, I should find a rest. There has to be –

“Captain,” she calls me out of the mists of pain. “Captain,” she repeats, “lock and seal the doors.”

But it takes on me just to look at them, to focus on my surroundings again. I grit my teeth. The doors are wide open, and so is my telekinetic sense. It’ll cost me later on, but I’m suffering either way. Iris has to know better than me.

It’s a miracle I still manage to seal us in, to shove the doors closed and blockade the lock, almost destroying it. My consciousness wavers in consequence, and Iris speaks. “You’ll get us out again,” she says like a command, but with indecision in her voice.

* * *

**I don’t know**  how I got to the bunk bed, or how I removed my clothes. They’re gone when I fall on the pillows and blankets. Iris starts to clean my wounds. My left side is burned, from my waist over my ribs to my shoulder blades, and to my left shoulder. Also, I haven’t noticed before, my left cheek. Iris looks worried. She asks me to help myself, to use my ability to remove dirt and clothing residues too small for her to get off my burns. “You’re predestined for this,” she says, as if I didn’t know that. That isn’t my problem. I try, as best as I can, but I can hardly see it. Iris sighs. She bandages and cools me, using her ability for it. I still notice some of her work as I slip in and out of consciousness. A few times she makes me drink. The water feels nice, neither too cold nor warm, even if it can take away only so much of my suffering.

Iris keeps on talking even while my mind drifts off. “All members of the Royal House Cygnet learn to treat burns,” she says. “A tradition to brave the Calores.” Her voice follows me when I can’t make sense of her words anymore, when I faint for good. Maybe her efforts will be useless. Maybe I’ll never wake.

* * *

**I’m left to**  question this for the next two months. I can’t remember much else but pain, Iris’s care and brief moments of lucidness. I only notice the passing time when Iris remarks on it, and by her growing belly. She takes care to maintain order and keep up the calendar when I can’t. Perhaps Iris chose the commoner bunker for my sake, because here’s medicine to numb my aches and against the infection we couldn’t avoid. Yet I can only take so much drugs, and they aren’t strong enough to take all pain away anyway. I wouldn’t want stronger drugs anyway, I only swallow those I take because I trust Iris. Possibly, the royal bunkers had a skinhealer waiting to serve, that would’ve been easier for me for certain. Instead the queen treats and feeds and cleans me, sometimes even moves me from bed to bed. There’s enough water, food and space, and I hope no one else needs it – needed it. The palace still stands, but I don’t know if anyone else is here anymore.

Iris’s cut off my hair too, what was once waist-long now ends at my chin. “It threatened to fall against your wounds, or was easily wrapped into your bandages,” she explained once, caressing my unhurt cheek.

She’s all I have now. I want to see my family, to know if my father, his wife and my little sister are okay, to feel Sorata’s embrace again. Now I have to rely on the queen, but what am I to her? I can’t help her. With my left side burned by Tiberias, I wonder whether I’ll ever move any part of my body without aching again. I don’t know what she expected. She could’ve left me outside, maybe an ally could’ve saved – and healed – me. At least I’m not dead yet, although I became feverish and sunk even deeper into unconsciousness and delirious dreams. She still lies down next to me to talk me through my worst moments, to hold my hand. I wish I had better replies or could remember what she says. She must be lonely, too.

But that can’t be all, she has to want something from me. Once I manage to compliment Iris for her efforts, for the overall treatment and choosing the right medicine against the infection – maybe that was part of her training at home as well. She smiles faintly, an expression that is the most beautiful image I’ve seen for ages. Then she leaves me again, going back to her daily prayers. She must’ve found a calm place for the meditations she relies on, a place that hopefully feels more transcendent than a bunker full of beds and shelves.

* * *

**Finally, my dreams**  and thoughts become less delirious, less clouded by pain. I suspect my brother Hagen’s been winding through my sleeping mind by now, trying to find me, if only to see if I’m still alive. I can’t remember it. But the night I do meet him, I start to believe in my recovery.

Hagen seems less relieved than I expected. He must’ve noticed me in small ways before, when I couldn’t notice him. Yet joy surrounds him, and as I become more aware, I wonder what he has spied from my mind already. Iris obviously wants to hide from the world, so what will Hagen do about her? I’ve always trusted in his decency, that he doesn’t intrude other people’s dreams for fun or evil intends. But unlike those others, for whom he needs a close distance, touch and a piece of property, he can enter his family’s dreams as he wishes. Our blood relation provides that. Other Silvers looked down on him for his blindness, his freak ability. It made it easier for him to spy on them.

On the other hand, it means Hagen’s dreams are the only contact to the outside, and Iris knows this.

“We moved away,” Hagen says in his dreamy not-voice. “Mother, Roman, Larissa and I are on the lands outside Archeon and Naercey where Lari grows crops for the cities. Mother has to help her, by focusing the sunlight. The grains are for the rebel guard, actually. So we started to work together, as you wished.” I flinch, but he smiles. “Sorata’s with the Guard in Naercey, though.

“I wonder what those rebels think of me.”

“I thought you stopped caring.”

“Cassie, I’ve never stopped caring. I wish I could.” He kisses me on my brow. “And you’re with the crown princess?” he adds.

Thoughts are a tricky thing in dreams. There’s hardly difference between them and words here, so when I think,  _yes, I’m with Iris_ , and Hagen’s expression turns slightly more satisfied, I know he heard it too.

When I wake for the first time remembering a dream conversation, the title  _crown princess_  is etched into my brain. That isn’t Iris. She’s the Queen of Norta, and even if you dismiss that for good reason, she isn’t a crown princess. There’re only two crown princesses on the continent, and Hagen didn’t mean cousin Elane of the Rift. That just leaves Agnes Cygnet of the Lakelands.

* * *

**My thoughts linger**  on Iris’s sister, yet how shall I talk with Iris about her? I could be wrong, and she’s not in a place to deserve fake news on this scale. But I start to let her know that I’m better, that I can communicate with my brother. At once, she looks sobered, surprised I’m not only – just mostly – her useless patient anymore. All in all, the toll and the stress of our situation, our confinement and her pregnancy are starting to show. She looks exhausted and slightly untended instead of prim and perfect like I got to know her. It’s endearing, and I have to look much worse while she’s still pretty.

“Don’t you want to know about the rest of the world?” I ask. “I’ll have to talk to him again, though – “

“Certainly,” she says. But her shoulders sag as she sits down on the chair in front of my bed.

“The alliance between Tiberias and the Rift is as good as broken. He left Archeon despite his victory while the Scarlet Guard and Monfort took over. Anabel Lerolan is dead, so is the Samos heir, and their would-be princess has disappeared,” I report. “All while the traitor Volo Samos himself is a captive of your mother in Detraeon, my Queen.” I hesitate. This is the moment should mention Crown Princess Agnes as well. If this were a neutral report and not a conversation with her own sister. “There isn’t information about Maven,” I say instead.

“I don’t worry about him,” Iris says. “Don’t look confused. I mean, I don’t think he’d, well, tell people about my condition.” She lowers her eyes. “He likely sees things similar to me.”

“Unless he’s dead.”

“Then he wouldn’t be problem either.”

“You wouldn’t be a queen anymore.”

“And I make such a magnificent one,” she cackles until the laugh chokes her. “I still have the Lakelands to take care of.”

“As a future queen, you mean?”

“In case of …” she frowns. “You don’t mean that rhetorically, Cassandra.” Her humour, her resolve falters. “What do you mean to tell me?” she cries.

I want to lower my head, evade her sight, but I owe her that much. “Your sister has fallen in battle. Your … Highness, you are the crown princess of the Lakelands now.”

She doesn’t say anything. Her shocked and hurt expression says enough as she fights the grief overtaking her. “What happened?” she asks finally, in her lowest voice.

I swallow. “Crown Princess Agnes Cygnet faced off Volo Samos when he came to attack the Lakelands, my Queen. It was a victory for House Cygnet, with the Samos threat neutralized, and the rebel ‘king’ taken prisoner. Still, the crown princess paid with her life.”

Tears are running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Iris. I’m so sorry.” But my words are useless, a mere politeness. Iris sinks into herself, wails and sobs. I scramble off the bed, try to take her hand. She doesn’t let me. She shakes off my touch, rises, and leaves me alone, going off to pray, or to prowl in the stocks. I still hear her cries and for once, I’m coward enough to wish I’d faint. But I’m terribly awake, knowing I’ve failed to take care of her in turn.

* * *

**She still brings**  me food and water and changes my bandages. Both her hands and her ability are tender touches on my ravaged skin. Always adamant that I drink enough. If only I could offer her something similar; I hardly know what to say to her apart from the inevitable. It can’t go on like this. I don’t want it to. I feel ungrateful and presumptuous, and I wish for a healer, or a Red medic. To lift the burdens on both of us. So Iris wouldn’t have to tend me, so I might at least walk again. Someone who can look after Iris, because I certainly can’t, so the birth in about two months won’t become a gamble for them.

I need to try harder. I ask if she’s okay as often as she asks me, caress her, try to make her talk about her family without making her cry.

I don’t succeed all the time. But I hope she yearns to let down her guard at instances, to trust in me, now that she’s chosen me to stand through this with her.

Thus I try to remind her of those options to seek help outside, by careful prodding. She understands me well enough, but her reservations are stronger.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she states.

“My brother will organize something,” I insist, pushing down the sting of her words. “And I trust him. Please. Don’t you want to get out? We can lie about who you are. Nobody’s seen you for so long – “

She chuckles joylessly; it’s more like the sound of tears. It silences me. “I’ve lost half of my family,” she says eventually. She doesn’t look at me. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. And yet I intend to give away one more.”

Oh.

She clears her throat and faces me. “There’re burners in your family,” she remarks, with her resolution returned.

I hesitate. “Yes. My cousin Lacey, my uncle, a few other relatives.” I blink while grasping her insinuation, a possible meaning. Yet I’m unsure I want to follow.

“So,” Iris says, knowing I know.

“What ‘so’, my Queen?”

She shifts in her chair as if to call attention to her belly. “There wouldn’t be too much attention if you had a burner child in your custody,” she states like the most ordinary thing.

I’ve suspected it for a while, and now she finally said it. I haven’t counted on myself getting involved, but the shock is less severe than it should be. “So … you really don’t want the child?”

She hesitates. She must’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, and made her own internal arguments. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I begin, but is that true? Could I help her, could I accept the responsibility if she didn’t explain?

“I’ve never believed in romance,” she says then. “I think I had a few crushes, little flirts, but I never felt attraction to anyone. It’s for the better to be asexual, I assumed, when I’ll have to marry for my country’s sake. Thus I did, with all consequences. I knew my family would be exalted if I had Maven’s child, a Cygnet child as heir to Norta.” She pauses. “Even the two times we had intercourse … ” she shrugs. “I felt nothing.” She cackles and her body starts to tremble. I wince as I, once again, shove myself off the bed to take her hand and stroke her back. “That was what I wanted,” she whispers. “Doing my duty, not a child. I didn’t consider what future we were moving into.” She calms and straightens, like she can’t afford insecurity. Even here, with me her only witness. She never looked more regal.

“However, that is no longer important, Cassandra.” Her voice is husky. “All our royal blood will be a curse now, as you prophesized. It was so for my father, and for Agnes.” She doesn’t hide her sadness, doesn’t wipe her tears. “I see that now, and I won’t force my child into this life.”

“I’m sorry.” She stares at me, wide-eyed. “For being right,” I add.

Iris sighs. “When Tiberias stormed into our rooms, I knew I could not go on like before. The Calores are killing each other, the High Houses terrorize each other and themselves. I only wanted to get away.”

And then she took me with her. But Tiberias didn’t kill his brother. He stopped me from doing it.

“Do you really believe that?” I ask. “I don’t think Tiberias would kill a child, his own niece or nephew even less …”

She shakes her head. “So what? Can you guarantee me  _no one_  will be ruthless enough to murder the Cygnet-Calore child of the usurper?  _No_. You can claim Tiberias would punish the culprit, but my child would still be dead.” She takes several deep breaths. “Better if it’s never called a Calore.”

“You can’t know if it’ll be a Calore,” I object.

She sighs deeply. Waits. “Would you …?” she starts, then breaks off. “Would that really make a difference in these times?” She looks at her hands, fumbles with the fingers that once wore her rings of insignia. “What good is it to be born into a royal family? I had to fight for the power I received, always watching my back, fearing for my life, and be my own best bodyguard. And I’ll have to do that again, once … well. The baby won’t be able protect itself. Just look at its father – ” she stops herself. She must’ve seen enough of Maven and his brokenness, more than sentinels like me.

We still don’t know whether he’s alive right now.

Iris clears her throat. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him, Cassandra. That you were stopped, it has to mean something. Fate.” She looks down to me, fixing me with those eyes as fierce and relentless as the sea. I can’t turn away, although my side hurts again from leaning against her.

“I can’t take care of myself right now,” I say.

She inclines her head, then helps me back into my bed. “I know,” she whispers. “You need help. So do I.”

“Good. So, when will we …?”

She shakes her head. “Promise me first. Will you raise my child in my stead, protect it, keep its heritage a secret to everyone but itself?”

“I …,” I swallow. “Yes,” I add. “But I’d have to tell my betrothed, too.”

She inclines he head. “He better swears the same.” She clears her throat. “Also, I’d like if you lived in the Lakelands, to keep my child closer to our culture, and to me.”

“Right …” This request, even more personal than the rest, hits me the harder.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll consider it, my Queen, once I’m healthy again. I owe it to you.”

* * *

**I try to** walk. It’s shockingly helpless and pitiful. My wounds throb with every movement and every stop, but I have to do something instead of doing little better than letting my muscles waste away by lying in bed.

“You should concentrate on training your ability,” Iris remarks.

My head spins to her and I rue it immediately. I should know better by now than moving rashly. But every mention of our coming departure excites me. While she has as good as promised to move out, she hasn’t given me a command yet, none that tells me to contact my brother to send a healer here. “That’ll take some time, too,” I say. I didn’t use my telekinesis after the day we came here as I could hardly access it afterwards. First the pain, then the fever robbed me of my mental powers and like my body, they’re muscles that need constant training I was unable to afford. Yet, if we want to leave the bunker to find a healer or let one in, I’ll need to unseal the doors with their mangled lock first. “I assume you imply you want me to open the doors again, Iris?”

She scoffs and pins me down with her gaze. “I am not ‘your Queen’ anymore?” She raises an eyebrow. “Or are we just that intimate with each other by now?”

I blush and incline my head. “I fear you aren’t, much less outside,” I reply after a pause.

She tries to remain calm, undisturbed. But her breathing becomes heavier, despite her latest talk about the curse of being royal. “I can’t deny it,” she says, and cackles. ”Yet I am still Iris of House Cygnet, Crown Princess of the Lakelands.” Her faux amusement chokes her, as her title remains the result of her sister’s death. She may pray for Agnes’s soul but her grief stays. “Do what you must, Captain Griffey, as I do.” She spins, about to start her walks again.

“You never asked me why.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “About Maven,” I clarify.

She sighs, like she doesn’t want to have this conversation but can’t avoid it. “I thought it is obvious,” she says.

“That I’m Scarlet Guard.” She nods. “How can you accept that? Why … did you take me with you?”

“You’re useful.”

“But you could’ve left me to my fate,” I insist. “I might’ve fared better.” There they are, the thoughts picking at me. Left outside, a skinhealer or an ally could’ve helped me and I wouldn’t have suffered as much, nor as isolated.

“Do you resent me for that?” she asks.

I wait, assessing an amount of time that’s neither too short nor too long, so she doesn’t think I lie. “No.” I swallow. “But you aren’t enough.”

“I know.” I startle but she goes on. “Cassandra, I took flight. I still want to. Yet the worlds calls, as you say.”

“And what will you do?” I ask softly. “Aren’t you as afraid of the Scarlet Guard as you are of the High Houses?”

Her hand splays over her belly. For a moment. Then she lets it falls to the side. “Maven has failed,” she admits. “He held on to his crown like it was the only unbroken thing he had.” She lets that sink in, acknowledging she didn’t change that. And even now, it’s an oddly personal remark about the enigma that is – or was – Maven Calore.

“Maven was bound to fail with that approach,” she continues. “The people didn’t believe in his pro-Red policies while he waged war against the organization fighting for them.”

I gape at her. “Most Silvers would say the Guard is an enemy to be opposed. You did, too. Five years ago, you fought down a Guard attack  _personally_. Your father flooded and drowned a village – “

“Five years, Cassandra Griffey, are a very long time.”

* * *

**Another week passes**  before I inform Hagen about our plan on Iris’s order and afterwards we have to wait several days for him to set things in motion and have somebody come for us. It’s an anxious period, as we can’t be sure the healer will arrive on the set date, nor that the way will be clear. Iris starts to ponder whether she miscounted the days, while I’m still straining to sit in the chair put before the entry, prepared to start my work on the door. All routine is gone, and I know the headaches will arrive soon enough, as another pain to endure. I grit my teeth, expecting to fight back in the worst case. But the knocking starts at the set time, in the right rhythm. I feel a short-lasting relief before I send out my telekinetic sense, search for the person on the other side, the crooked door, the remains of the lock. The moment has come and I pry ever so slightly, pull by pull and push by push, the migraine and nausea looming near yet without overwhelming me. I keep my eyes closed.

“You can open it now,” I tell Iris and she starts to pull on the door. It’s not easy, less in her state, and clenching my fists, I let my mind pull as well. It’s enough if the door is ajar, then the visitor can help. Still, it takes endless time. When it’s open wide enough, Iris slides into the shadows, just in case, but it’s unnecessary.

He has only eyes for me. Relief spreads on his face, fixing him in place a full second before he rushes to me. My love. Sorata’s hands on my cheeks already feel magical.

“You’ve come,” I whisper to him. “I missed you so much.” Just the presence of him, the dark eyes, brown skin and witty smile of his red-blooded body calm me, more than the medicines, as I realize that his hands are indeed magical.

He’s stolen a skinhealer’s ability.

It must’ve been the easiest way to send someone trustworthy to us, apparently. He doesn’t find my wounds immediately, so I guide him, encouraging him. Yet he hardly knows what he’s doing. When he takes someone’s ability, he obtains only a fraction of their skill and experience. His healing mends me rather automatically as he lets go of his power, although feeling my constant aches vanish is ecstatic. I get up with him, take a step, always keeping a hand on him and to remind him to find every sore spot.

Until it stops with a start. His stolen abilities exhaust quickly and I fall against him, tired as well but still elated.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, caressing my head.

“It’ll be okay,” I say. “You came, you helped, and you did what you could.”

“I love you, Cassie. I’m so glad you’re well, but – “

“Shh. I love you too.”

* * *

**He still doesn’t**  pay attention to Iris, not more than acknowledging her presence. First, we check my skin, now covered with scars, grey, ugly and straining when I move. But no longer a purgatory. The scars have eaten up and reshaped the tattoos on my left midriff and back though.

“We can find another healer,” Sorata says, but I shake my head.

“Just give it back to the one you took it from.” I smile, broader and more sincerely than in months. “I don’t need to be perfect, and I like that you did it. Now let’s pack our things.”

“And what about you?” Sorata asks Iris. Finally. “It’d be superfluous to pretend I don’t know who you are,” he adds.

She nods. “However, I’d prefer you did once we leave this place, Operative Ives.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Forging identities is actually a vocation of mine,” he boasts.

Iris scoffs, almost amused. “I’m relying on an assassin and a spy to protect me,” she says and smiles. “On the other hand, that is a very queenly thing to do.”

I bend towards her. “Iris – “

She shakes her head. “I’m jesting. No, I rather intend to support and join the Scarlet Guard.”

 


	24. Mare

**Mare POV**

**Evangeline’s leave has**  an impressive impact, given her presence was a secret to most. Thus, the reactions are likewise small and hidden, but I notice them, knowing where to look. It’s when we talk about seeing Norta as a whole turning into a battlefield. “I worry how  _she’s_  going to get through,” I say one time, and Farley chokes on her tea.

“You mean she’ll call attention to herself?” she dissembles.

“No, I wonder whether she left Harbor Bay at all.” I glare at Farley who – for once – avoids glaring back. She lets me wait for an answer too long, frozen, like she’s considered that herself. “I didn’t have that impression,” she claims, but her fingers twitch.

“So, you aren’t afraid of her lurking in a corner?”

She shrugs and rises. “I have to call Davidson in Archeon again,” she says as a goodbye and I want to ask if she rues letting Evangeline go. She told me that night Evangeline’s more of a danger in here – but now she’s out of our control.

* * *

**In the meantime** , Tiberias parts with the control he had over Harbor Bay, by handing it to us. His hold has been tenuous at best, only improved by the Scarlet Guard presence. After he caused Evangeline’s breakdown, he pulled away as if ashamed by himself. Typical.  _Typical, typical_ , I curse inwardly. A Silver’s fate moves him to change, and for a silly reason that had nothing to do with the city he tries to protect.

I’m so close to scolding him again but more and more that makes me feel like demeaning myself – I’ve tried that often enough. And it’s good he decreases his influence, isn’t it? Harbor Bay and Norta need no Calores, we do the job more efficiently than the remaining Silver elite, Ada for the internal, Farley on the external politics. Although we lost the bargaining chip Evangeline was, so now we can wait anxiously for what the Rift will do once they settle their conflict with the Lakelands and learn what terrible things happened to their princess. The conflict could last years, but Evangeline could turn up dead or accusing the Scarlet Guard for confining her at any moment.

Deep down, I’m glad she’s gone, no longer a captive like I was. As I was relieved when the royal children form Piedmont were freed, even though that has cost us the Winghill Base down there.

I’m obviously biased in some matters.

* * *

**Harbor Bay makes**  me nervous, my tasks bore me, and Tiberias unsettles me. I have my friends and my brother here, but I realize how I become unhinged again, discontent and afraid I’ll stay this way as long as Maven lives. If he does. I begin to fear I’ll always feel followed, haunted by him, even after I learn of his death and see his dead body.

“We might leave Harbor Bay again,” Farley says when I talk to her about my unrest. “I’m not supposed to take a permanent government position to begin with.”

“Want to call a storm with me again, Mare?” Rafe proposes.

“Do you want to go back to Mom and Dad?” Tramy asks.

“If you feel overwhelmed by these fights, you can always come to me,” Kilorn promises. “I’ve trained, now I make funnier puns than Tiberias Calore.”

And so on. I know my friends are ready to help me, and I try to open up to them. I really do. But I’ve come to anticipate their answers and advices and they don’t make it easier to overcome the gaping, urging, demanding hole in my heart. Distractions are good, like fighting and training and spending time together but they seem so pointless afterwards.

_Try another kind of distraction_ , I consider sometimes. The kind I once forbid myself with Tiberias.

Of course, those are still forbidden, and I can’t believe myself, when I want him back in moments of arousal. Sometimes I run into him, or suddenly meet his gaze during a meeting and see a similar desire written on his face, one that makes me blush to recognize.

Every time, I turn away again and take flight, forcing myself to think about the state of the city and come up with ideas to further the Scarlet Guard’s agendas.

Ideas from those moments are never good, although Ada smiles while hearing them, just to be nice. She’ll make a good mayor for Harbor Bay, even though she and Farley hesitate to say that out loud. Once they’ll do it, we’ll leave Harbor Bay behind to find another place to fight for. This will be an endless task, occupying us for years and deep down, I’m aware that work won’t change my own frustration unless I forget it somehow, by some miracle or sheer exhaustion.

* * *

**I get permission** to make a few distance calls to my parents and Gisa in their settlement. My sister is more than excited to tell me about her now official relationship with Cameron, and Mom’s keen on reminding Kilorn and me to look after Clara, as if I made a decent baby-sitter. “Farley does well on her own,” I reply.

“And are you doing well, too, Mare?” Mom asks. I pause. “Dad and I want you to be safe, but happy as well,” she adds.

I bite back the watering of my eyes. “That’s what I wish for as well, Mom.”

* * *

**The freezing cold**  February and March don’t stop the fights in- and outside of Harbor Bay and thus delay any ideas of leaving the city. Again, I think of Evangeline who makes no appearances we hear of. She must’ve left the area long ago.

“This is a bloody stalemate,” I tell Farley who’s unnervingly smiling.

“I’m so close to call for reinforcements from Archeon, too,” she confesses.

“And?”

She shrugs. “Won’t help. We already do the best we can with the patrols and our numbers. What we lack is information to take out the Silver gangs for good.”

Ada looks up. “I  _do_  have a few more good tips.”

“About those who Tiberias will never agree to be removed, as that would take out the few Silvers he trusts,” I object. He insists on clemency for cooperative witnesses, even if there’s evidence they continue to work against the Scarlet Guard and commit crimes against the Reds of the city.

“Since when do you care about his opinions again?” Farley says, and it’s a bait born of her own stunted ambitions.

A bait that easily traps me. “I do not. Assign me a team and I’ll dispatch them.”

Farley looks to Ada. “I can tell you about those certainly involved in illegal activities,” Ada says. “Those should be vital to assault.”

Farley nods. “I’ll have to order the reinforcements anyway,” she says. “The city will have to stand after the Lightning Girl dealt with it.”

* * *

**Three days later** , we’ve completed the task, we lost no one. Ada praises our success in a very outspoken manner, given her standards. The mood has changed profoundly, it’s like spring has come with this victory, even the weather becomes warmer, if slowly. Did she know the Silvers killed and arrested today from before? I plan to ask her later on, as she’s currently occupied with replying to the reactions to the announcement of the raid. She actually enjoys it, it can only be a matter of time until her next announcement: her candidature for the position of Harbor Bay’s mayor. While we soldiers, who did the most work are called out, receive less spotlight – to my relief.

I’ve greeted Kilorn and Tramy when I arrived at the town hall, to tell them of the safe outcome of the mission, but I can’t find them anymore as the building become more and more crowded. Nor can I see Sara or Farley, only glimpsing Julian in the distance.

“Are you really happy about this?” Tiberias hisses behind me. When I turn, he’s practically figuratively and literally fuming. I raise an eyebrow.

“You’re celebrating death,” he adds.

“Not to the extent of some parties I saw Maven have,” I sneer and step away. He grabs my wrist and makes my skin prickle. “Tiberias – “

“Mare.” Less enraged now. “It’s over, and you know it.”

I pull away, lay my hand he took on my chest. “Exactly.” I glare up to him.

He shakes his head. “I need to show you something. If you came to residence tomorrow?” He sounds a little hopeless, and rightly so. I’m still hardly able to enter the residence without becoming dizzy, and rarely tried again.

He notices my hesitation, which he must’ve anticipated. He lowers his head. “It’s more than overdue for me to abdicate,” he says, making my eyes widen. “Here, and in Archeon. I’ll leave for the capital in a few days.”

“Good,” I reply, still disbelieving.

He cackles. “I see, you don’t trust me. But please, try to come in the morning.”

I stop myself from nodding like an idiot and go, sipping from a flute I grabbed in passing. That’s right, this is a night of celebration. And why not? The most menacing gang is as good as disbanded after the raid, and according to rumours, the Rift won over the Lakelands with so great losses they’re calling for Monfort and Guard support. If they need us, they’ll have to accept our terms. And after all, Tiberias Calore VII will relinquish his claim to the throne of Norta. It almost seems like our efforts are leading somewhere.

“Where’s the general?” I ask a Red Watchman. I’ve grown curious about Farley’s absence at Ada’s great evening.

“In her office, Operative Barrow,” he answers with a salute. “Congratulations on your victory.”

I grin. “A group effort, and a joy for all of us and Harbor Bay.” 

* * *

**Four seconds pass**  before Farley reacts to my knocks on her door. Her “come in” is quiet and husky, and her demeanour is similarly tired. She sits on the floor, leaning against the wall and watches Clara crawl on the floor.

“Haven’t you heard?” I ask.

“Sure.”

“Will Ada stay here, Farley?”

She inclines her head and says nothing for seconds. In her silence, I search for something else to say, if only an excuse to leave. She is so inactive that even her few movements to guide Clara around seem strange, while the girl’s already trying to stand up and walk.

“My father’s dead,” she says eventually.

Oh. “I’m sorry,” I reply, as it’s the only thing to say. Their relationship was so odd, the colonel such a hard man.

“He’s never held Clara,” Farley tells me. “He never asked.” Pause. “I’ve never offered him to, either.” She doesn’t move or make a sound when a tear rolls down her cheek.

I sit down next to her and take her hand. Her other one beckons Clara who soon comes closer to fall on Farley’s lap. Farley snuffles. “I heard when I asked for the reinforcements. Not from Archeon, but from Corvium, where they were still stationed after they left the Samos army.”

“They were closer,” I say.

She nods. “Yes. But apparently, the Samos forces went back to fight in the Lakelands, to free their king or whatever. Well, they lost, and the Lakelander forces charged into Norta again, over the choke. ‘We made peace with Maven Calore, not with traitors and Red rats,’ they proclaimed. Probably something about Maven’s missing queen too.

“So, my father marched with the comrades in Corvium to defend the borders.” She scoffs. “How ironic.”

“He knew which side he fought for,” I say carefully.

“Right,” Farley agrees, “of course. The Cygnets  _are_  our enemies, and now they killed him as well.”

Another pause.

“Farley?”

“Hmm?”

“Did we lose?”

She shakes her head. “The battle’s still going on.” She sighs. “We won’t get help from them. Indeed, we have to support them.”

“I’ll go.”

“That was quick.” She looks at me with concentration. “Okay,” she decides, “you and the team from today coming with you? Tsk. I’ll need the whole night to find out who to send where. Sure to stop the party, but I can leave it to Davidson once I travel to Archeon.”

“You don’t come with me?”

“No.” There’s no indecision in her voice. “I can’t take Clara to Corvium, and I don’t want leave her completely, with the first persons I find trustworthy.” She glances at me, then to Clara, toying with one of her curls. In turn, Clara lifts her small hands to her mother’s wrist. “I just don’t want her to have to settle to strangers again and again. She needs reliability, doesn’t she? Steadiness, people she knows. Me.” She sighs. “The only parent she has.

“You know why I brought her along this time? Because I couldn’t know I wouldn’t be separated from her for months once more. I can’t stand it, no matter how great your parents are with her. But I also want her to be safe. I’d like … to give her a home one day.”

I swallow. “You’re enough for now, I’m sure. Along with the rest of her family.” Farley looks at me, stunned, and I realize what I said:  _the rest of her family_ , just after another relative of them has died.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and get up. “I’ll go now, and make some implications about the new mission –“

“Mare.” I stop. “I know what you mean. We should keep close to the people we love, shouldn’t we? But even that … can be so hard.”

She means her father, of course. But suddenly, I think of Cal. I lost him, truly. Unless he takes part in the mission, I assume we’ll walk different paths for good. And it scares me. Death, and parting without reconciliation. I’ve had enough of that, the unfinished businesses. Evading him in all matters unless they allow me to scold him.

I’ll offer him this evening. We can make peace, then go our ways. But first I need the truth from him.

* * *

**Back in the**  hall, I grab and down one drink, then another one, as I search for him. I find him sitting on a couch with his face buried in his hands, apparently no more sober than me. Piles of folders and papers keep him company.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t react, not at first. Is it too much of a miracle that I visit him? Finally he jumps up, his stare both disbelieving and expectant. “What about the thing you wanted to show me?” I ask.

“Umm … better tomorrow. Really.” He hesitates.

I nod. “Can we talk somewhere, still? In your rooms perhaps?”

“… Mare?”

“Just come,” I urge. His rooms are in the residence, and I want their privacy. Although I dread the prospect of entering the palace called Ocean Hill, too. So I walk a step behind him, looking at my feet, tempted for than once to take his hand. Of course I don’t, and I flex my fingers instead. The alcohol helps to drown the sensation of the dark, lost palace, but it loosens my hesitations as well. I know that and welcome it. Maybe I’m throwing away my good sense but sober I wouldn’t get my feet and lips to move at all.

* * *

**He bids me**  into his suite. It’s richly furnished, but not to kingly standards, as visible as that is in the moonlight. Whatever lodgings he’s taken, they’re likely not those he had before all that.

I follow him in, go to sit with him on a couch. Very close, so our thighs touch. He almost gets up again, but I hold him back with a touch on his arm. “The light,” he starts, but I shake my head.

“Let’s stay in the dark.” I hope that’ll make it easier to speak.

So we sit for a while, in the silent darkness, our features mere schemes in the night. I calm my breath, wait for my heartbeat to slow, but the latter remains unsettlingly fast. I guess it’s the same for him. His closeness feels so warm. I want to begin, but the words stay pinned on my tongue.

He gasps, about to speak, then doesn’t. It’s the moment I decide. “Soon, I’ll go to Corvium and into the Lakelands to fight the invading Cygnet army. Like I was never supposed to escape that fate. You’ll find your own way, or maybe we’ll meet again. I don’t know. But before that, I want us to be honest with each other.” I take a deep breath. “I’m glad to have met you,” I say. “I’ve been falling for you for a long time, when I could’ve needed any person caring about me. You did, and I loved you for it.” A pause to let that sink in. He notices my wording, acknowledges it. His knuckles touch mine.

“If you truly, really, will abdicate,” I continue, “I’ll be glad as well. Then I can forgive you. Cal.”

He takes my hand. One time, I squeeze. Then I pull away.

“But only that. I can forgive you that you betrayed me and the Guard. That you pretended to stand for change when you wished to preserve. That you ignored what I fought for. That you broke your promises.” I look at him, and if he doesn’t meet my eyes, I’ll stand up and go.

He looks back.

“I expect one thing from you,” I say. “Make your pretends come true. Fight the same battle as me, however you can.” Now I take his hand.

He cups my hand in both of his. “I will, Mare, I’d swear by my colours, but I doubt you’d like that.”

I chuckle. “One last time.”

He bows his head. “By the colours of the unseelie House Calore, I promise to support the destruction of the Nortan crown.”

“Still sounds extremely ironic.”

“Yes.” He sighs. “Mare, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Whether I follow the right path, make the right decisions. I thought I did, or that everyone struggles with finding solutions in the same way I do, although I hardly even strayed from the path I’ve learned to follow. That was – is – careless. Stupid. There’s no excuse for that.”

“No,” I whisper. “There’re only your true, unreflective, egoistic reasons. To cling to the few things you had left.” I leave more words hanging in the air. Confessions of love, pledges. I don’t offer them to him and he’s understanding enough not to demand them. But they linger between us, in his warm eyes.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell you the rest,” he says. “Why I left Archeon.” A sigh escapes his lips. Our hands are still entwined. “I love you,” he says.

“I know,” I reply. And although I still doubt he can really mean it, although I can’t give him prospects, I can give him tonight, a few moments of madness. Finally, I move away, get up high enough to kiss his brow. My hands are on his thighs, his hand on mine. Then I look into his eyes and kiss him on the lips. They’re hot, chafed, and demanding. I forget time in this last chance for intimate closeness. We kiss until we need to catch breath again, and both of us know what might become of this.

I stand up. “I need the bathroom,” I say, and search my way to it. I wash my face, then lean on the washbasin and turn on the light to look at my face. Certainly not a gorgeous sight, only my exhausted self. I wait, gathering myself to let my arousal vanish. A futile hope.

When I get back into his living room, he’s gone, has taken flight like me. I fall on the seats we were in mere minutes before, and it’s still warm from us. I cuddle against a pillow, embrace myself and stare into the night until I fall asleep.

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _I’m deeply sorry I was too lazy to write the fight scene. I feel like I don’t have the time for content that isn’t ultimately necessary to finish the fic. In the end, a generic fight scene didn’t matter, wouldn’t have as much impact as the character interaction here. I mean, I hope so._

_I probably should’ve written a Camisa interlude before this chapter, too. But again, I want to get this done soon (and I didn’t have enough inspiration to make it romantic tbh …)._

 


	25. Mare

**Mare POV**

**The sun burns**  in my eyes when I wake. I’ve hardly rested enough, with the aftereffects of the battle and the alcohol taking their dues on my body. I yawn and wipe my eyes only to be hit with a headache. I have to force myself to get up and stretch, then let the sunlight warm me for a little longer.

A knock on the door; it’s him. Tiberias – Cal. “I have breakfast for us,” he says, shyly, unsure to look at me once I turn to him. Not that I’m less uncertain. Should I ask where he spent the night? But I refrain. I take a seat at the table he’s preparing and pick up some snacks he already laid out until he sits down, too.

“Serve yourself,” he proposes, and I smile. It’s a nice gesture from him, although I doubt he made all this himself. I take some bites and sips but my hangover lessens my appetite. I eat because I hope food will improve my state while nothing tastes really good. If it’s the same for him, he doesn’t show it. He eats like a noble with perfect manners, pick-pick-picking at his plate. It’s peaceful moment for our standards, although – or because – we don’t talk.

After a while, he sets down his mug of coffee. “I hope you like it,” he says.

“I guess it does its purpose,” I reply with a sneer. “But thanks.”

He nods. “Well, good.” I blink. He clears his throat. “You aren’t the first one.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not the first one I bring breakfast,” he clarifies, weirdly serious.

I cackle. What is this supposed to mean? “You don’t need to tell me about your other ‘sleepover guests’,” I say. Really, I don’t want to hear him confessing he dated someone in between.

He shakes his head, a deep sigh escaping his throat. “No, Mare, it’s not like that,” he groans.

“So it’s like what?” He makes me impatient. It was nice to have breakfast in the bright and golden, sunlit room, but I still feel a little ill, more so as the palace remains an uncomfortable place for me.

He extends his hand until his fingers almost touch mine. I don’t move. He continues to stare at me, with too much compassion, then he pulls his hand away again.

“Maven,” he says.

“What?”

“It’s Maven,” he repeats, “whom I bring breakfast every morning. I …” he stops.

He waits for me to reply. But I cannot speak.

“He is with me, here in the Ocean Hill palace,” he adds. I would’ve figured, if only I could think at all. But I’m too shocked. Now Tiberias shifts in his chair, uncertain about how to proceed, like he always is. “I … left Archeon with him, Mare. That’s why I have ‘vanished’ for a time. I needed to find a safe place for him.”

“What have you done,” I hiss tonelessly.

“You’ve heard of the battle in Whitefire, haven’t you?” he asks. As I’m too frozen, not showing a reaction, he starts anew. “Mare – “

“Don’t say my name.”

“I – back then, I went into the palace, to look for him. I found him as a sentinel was about to kill him and I … stopped her. Then Iris Cygnet appeared, fought me, and knocked me out.” He swallows. “When I woke, Cygnet and the sentinel were gone. Only Maven remained with me, you see. Maven had  _every_  chance to murder me, without any problem. He didn’t.  _He did not_ , and then, then … ” His gaze intensifies, as if he expects me to  _understand_.

I stand up. “Is that all?”

He gapes, then quickly shuts his mouth. He rises, too, and waits.

I let him linger. The stasis I felt begins to shifts into a current, a storm that builds in me. Today, it’s not him who fumes, but me whose skin gives off sparks. Tiberias is only the guilty child expecting his verdict.

I flip the table and enjoy the sound of shattering porcelain and clinking metal, almost as much as I like to drink in his terrified wince.

“What do you want from me now?!” I scream.

“I just wanted you to know, it was only fair!”

“Fair? You think anything that ever happened between him and me was fair?”

“No, but – “

“What if I went and killed him right now?”

This, after all, turns his stance from submissive into defensive. Right, he wouldn’t let me. Never. Why should he have saved his traitorous brother if only to still see him die?

“Please don’t do that,” he says, taking a very courageous step towards me.

In turn, I step away, crossing the room. “I don’t know what I’ll do,” I utter. “Who knows about this?”

“You can’t … “

“What  _can’t_  I do, Tiberias? Are you pretending no one else knows you have the little demon king in your care? Really?”

He coughs. “I’ve asked two former servants for help. They’re loyal, have always been … “

“Oh, of course they are. No one could ever disobey you, the crown prince, could they? What will happen if you go to Archeon, as you told me? Huh? Who knows how he’s manipulated those loyal servants already?”

“Mare, please. You should calm down,” he urges.

“Stop telling me what to do!” I need to get out of here, his vicinity, the palace that holds a monster in its belly. Every bite I took from the breakfast, offered to me like it was offered to Maven, burns like bile in my throat. Every inch of skin Tiberias touched last night itches. But he comes closer still, careful, as if I was a wild animal.

I have no patience for this. I call my lightning and throw it against the windows, creating an opening I can flee through.

* * *

**Above me, clouds**  gather and thunder rumbles, the air around me crackles with electricity. My mood alone calls forth a storm and I don’t care to stop it. It’s the only outlet I have apart from the tears rolling down my cheeks. How could he? But of course he could, this lines up perfectly well with everything else he did. And what a brilliant place he chose as his cage, without even knowing. I couldn’t access Maven without tearing the whole palace asunder, with the storm in me so strong his death would happen with a snap of my fingers. I would off Tiberias with the next breath and finally, hopefully, the Calores were gone from this world.

But as the lightning and thunder I am summoning assemble more and more attention in Harbor Bay, I know I can’t do any of this, not without destroying what we’ve achieved so far. It was hard, slow, and inconsistent at times, but we brought a kind of peace, a prospect of equality to the city, and all would be for naught with the Lightning Girl going berserk.

The conclusion doesn’t stop the pain, or the betrayals I can’t escape. I can’t do this anymore. I wander and cry, sob and crouch, cradling the storm as my only companion. I hide myself in a dusty corner so the stares won’t find me as the clouds start to dissipate.

I’m disappointed by myself. I find myself reduced to a desperate girl when I finally have a chance to do what I’ve sworn – kill Maven Calore. But I’m too coward to enter the bowels of the palace he’s confined in and face him. At least I can hope he sees the hell that is imprisonment. And yet, even if I dared, my greatest fear remains that nothing will change. I shouldn’t let myself be ruled by that fear and go anyway yet every breathe of air I take feels like a buoy I bitterly need.

The bad weather I caused was short-lived; the sunlight of this spring day is already returning to its mean, incorruptible beauty that’s ignorant of my lost heart. Almost like the sky can’t stand my frustration.

“Hey.”

Feet in dirty boots have appeared in front of me. I know who he is, so I don’t look up at first. But he waits, having been around during my lost moments of anger and sadness for a long time. I stop to evade his face when he sits down next to me. “What has he done this time?” Kilorn asks.

I cackle.

“That sounds bad,” he says, and I laugh harder, close to coughing. It makes him embrace me and I fall against his chest, hugging him back, tighter than anyone else in the last months.

“ _Shh_. It’s okay, it can’t be that awful,” he murmurs, and I want to believe him.

“He has Maven in his basement,” I sniff, and his reaction is palpable. He has to work it through himself.

Kilorn clears his throat. “All this time?” he inquires.

“Yes,” I say, and explain the rest, as good as I can.

* * *

**We stay seated**  on the ground for a long time, even as the sun reaches its zenith. Kilorn fumbles with the grass, I stare at my fingernails and let them give off sparks.

“What shall I do?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You said you wanted to kill him. Is that still true?”

I sigh. “I want to see him dead. I want him to know he couldn’t own, nor break me. But on the other hand … I hate that he still has this power over me. It’s not even a real power.”

“More like memories,” he offers.

“Yes. Those won’t go away.”

He ponders. “I think we tell Ada. She should know what kind of prisoner her city holds,” he says after a while.

“You trust her?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, she’s becoming a politician, so …”

He laughs. “Is that a smile, Barrow?” But his amusement falters as he says it, as mine does.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“I’ll stay with you. Always,” he promises like so many times before.

I take his hand. “Yes, you do,” I agree, and relief mixed with surprise shows on his face. “You might be the only one.” He hugs me again. “I think we should do as planned,” I say carefully. “Fight up there in Corvium.”

He pulls away. “And you trust me with that?” I raise an eyebrow. “I mean,” he continues, “you never wanted me to fight in this war.”

The realization hits a nerve. This is the fear that started everything, Kilorn and me fighting in the choke against the Lakelands. So many things, terrible and beautiful, have happened in between, but in the end, it leads to – almost – the same outcome.

I shrug. “I know better by now.”

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _Although I planned Mare to meet Maven here at first, I decided this was for the better, as she’d need time to process that information. The confrontation is for later._

_FYI, the next chapter will be far less angsty._

 


	26. Cassandra

_**A/N:** Thanks again tor that anonym who told me about their original character Hope Lerolan and allowed me to include her in the story! _ _She’s a beautiful addition and I hope you like the way I write her, even if she remains a background character._

**Cassandra POV**

**Sometimes, the ruins**  of Archeon make you feel like living in a tomb. Sorata told Iris and me the small house we stay in was assigned to him by the Scarlet Guard, but rather to supervise than to live in. It fills our basic needs. We’re still in hiding, a secret. I remain in the house to regain my health, Iris because she doesn’t want to be seen. I keep her company along with Sorata’s friend Hope Lerolan, the only Guard comrade he trusts to confide in.

It’s still a confinement, which makes it so confusing. Sorata is away often enough because of his Guard errands and thus he can stay only every second night. He’s been promoted to a captain in the meantime. I’ve expected his closeness after our long separation to be  _more_. More reassuring, more beautiful, more sensual. But in a way, my body feels too new and strange to continue things like before. One moment, every one of his fingertips on my skin is a drug for my touch-starved self, and one hour later, I can’t imagine the passion and carnal desires I engaged in once. I want Sorata to stay close, to taste the same air that he’s breathing in, but everything further would be too much for me right now.

“ _Will you still love me, when I’m longer young and beautiful?”_  I hum during those nights.

“Why do you say that?” he asks, irritated.

“Isn’t it accurate? For me?” I shrug, still stunned this movement hurts no longer.

He sighs and hugs me tighter. “I do love you, Cassie.”

“But I’ve changed.”

A pause.

“You did,” he acknowledges. “We all do, and we accept that.”

“Yes,” I breathe.

 

“Iris doesn’t want the child, does she?” he asks.

“No,” I confirm. I hesitate, realizing my delay must end. “She’s genuinely concerned about its fate but doesn’t think she could raise it safely in her home. She asked me to adopt it.”

Sorata is, reasonably, stunned. His mouth opens to say something, but he stops. Waits again.

“We talked about this before, didn’t we?” he says eventually. “That we won’t have children on our own.”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is a very sudden option.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

He waves off. “Would’ve been sudden still.” He ponders. “You already agreed?”

“Well, I’m sorry, but – “

He chuckles. “Hey!” I hiss, but he continues. “Now, if we have a child, we can get married just as well,” he says.

“Are you proposing? Again?”

“I need to know if we’re still betrothed, in your opinion.”

I take a deep breath, then bat his chest. “We are.”

He kisses me. “I’ll take care of the official matters,” he says.

“You’re always so, so … bureaucratic.”

He shrugs. “My favourite weapon, Cassie.”

I sigh. “Iris would like us to live in the Lakelands too,” I tell him. “But I doubt that’ll be possible anytime soon.”

He shakes his head. “She told me she wants to go back there, after the birth. To take matters into her own hands, now the peace treaty is void.”

“Yes,” I mutter. “It’s tragic how quick it came undone.”

* * *

**Her ability is**  the only physical activity Iris can occupy herself with inside the house, and thus she concentrates on mastering minuscule water tricks. She’d prefer to pace as well, but the house is much too small to even start, and too many Silvers who might recognize her roam on the streets of our quarter.

Silvers like my father and his family, I’ve learned. I’m relieved to hear they’re doing okay but I’m reluctant to meet them, even my little sister Samantha. Although I communicate with my maternal family via my brother Hagen’s dreams. I’ve never been close to my father, and now I don’t dare to trust him, his wife and Samantha with the most recent events of my life.

Iris shapes water into threads that brush over my arms before she calls them back with graceful turns of her hands. “I’ve decided on names,” she announces. “Arthur for a boy, like in the stories. You know them?”

“My mother showed me some, yes,” I reply. “There seem to be many variations.”

“Indeed.” Her concentration is back to her water-play, so I’m startled when she continues. “And Vic …  _Agnes_ -Victoria for a girl.” She pauses, her mouth becoming a grim line. Maybe you should just call her ‘Victoria’ though.”

“But you want it to know about its aunt, don’t you?” I inquire.

She startles, and barely manages to stop the water from staining the floor. Although I doubt that would’ve been a problem for her to remedy. For a moment, she’s unsure, her fingers twitch. Then she straightens. “You didn’t know Agnes, there isn’t much for you to tell.” She clears her throat. “We’ll find a solution. In one or two years, we can meet again, and see how things are.”

I nod and take a step closer to her. I touch her shoulder, allowing her to relax. “As you started this topic,” I begin, “I think the child should have Sorata’s last name, Ives.” I blush. “As we, ah, intend to get married.”

Iris frowns. “I’ll bear his name then, too,” I add.

It confuses her, I wonder whether she’ll agree. “That is unusual,” she says. “Well, the baby will need a last name, too. The more ordinary, the better.”

I bite my lips. “I’m glad you agree,” I say and putting a friendly expression on my face. I move to leave her alone again, but I hesitate. Iris looks at me, slightly uncertain.

There’s a knock on the door, and Iris asks Hope in. Hope inclines her head towards us and that’s all she offers as a polite greeting. “The midwife-healer has come, to examine you,” Hope says. “Shall we …?”

“I’ll meet her in the other room,” Iris answers and goes to the door. There she stops, glancing over her shoulder. “My best wishes to your wedding,” she says before leaving the room.

“Thank you,” I murmur. It was silly of me to doubt her support of Sorata and me. She wants us to raise her child, why should she be against our marriage, even though we’re a Silver and a Red?

“You’re lucky,” Hope says. I spin to her. “In these days,” she continues, “even a mixed couple can live together openly.”

“Actually, we’ve been together for much longer, since we were teenagers,” I tell her.

Hope shakes her head, a painful smile on her lips. “Still, time’s on your side. I was in love once, too. I met her at the choke, where we planned to leave all that bloodshed behind. In our dreams, we’d already done so.” She lifts a hand as if to wipe away a tear. “But when my commander found out about us, he killed her, in front of my eyes.”

I go to her and take her hand. She leans against me. “I could no longer fight after I lost Ocean, hardly wanted to use my ability at all. It’s pure destruction.” She swallows. “All the violence around us … I couldn’t even kill my commander to get revenge.”

“You don’t have to,” I say. “There’re more important things than fighting. Like little Arthur or Victoria. And if necessary, other people will fight the battles.”

Hope snorts. “Yes, if only the warriors didn’t think only about their deeds and efforts…!”

“Hope,” I say, “Hope. We will work together, you see? You, Sorata, Iris, and I. We’ll change things.”

“What hopes you have,” she mutters, smiling under the tears.

* * *

**Arthur is born**  on March 26th. There’re no complications, nor does the midwife, a Newblood skinhealer who’s been working in this profession for years, ask too many questions. Not about Iris’s identity, or that she doesn’t want to hold her child afterwards. The midwife and her assistant look after them, then she signs the birth certificate and leaves.

“We’ll go upstairs,” Sorata says, carrying the baby in his arms. I nod. Maybe I should go with him to cuddle with the child that’s supposed to become mine. But that has to wait, as it’s Iris who needs me now. I lie down beside her, hold her hand, embrace her, and talk about silly things. She tries to be amused despite her exhaustion, to be light-hearted, until she leans against me and cries like she’s never allowed herself this before. “I’m here,” I say again and again. “Everything will be alright.”

When she’s done with crying, she talks about her own plans and the politics she’s missed. She doesn’t mention Arthur or Maven, not today. I stay with her until we fall asleep, till I wake up during the dawn of the next morning.

Iris looks at me as I blink my eyes open. “Are you getting uncomfortable here?” she asks.

I yawn, covering my mouth for politeness. “’Tis okay.”

Her palm brushes my good cheek. “Time to go to your own bed,” she says with a faint smile. “I’m doing well.”

Her braveness never ceases to amaze me. I embrace her and get up carefully before I stumble as quiet as possible upstairs to the room I share with Sorata.

And with Arthur now, not to forget. Sorata jumps up when I open the door. He doesn’t look rested at all. But he grins at my sight, gets up and takes my hand to guide me to the bassinet we found for Arthur, who’s asleep.

“He was awake until 15 minutes ago,” Sorata whispers. “He’s a hungry one, for certain.” He kisses my temple. “Do you believe me when I say we get along nicely so far?”

My heart cramps and I want to both laugh and cry as relief tucks at me because I’ve never been sure Sorata would accept this new life so easily. Maybe he does better than I.

He pulls me closer as I start to sob – quietly. “Hey,” he utters, trying to calm me.

“Sorry I left you alone tonight,” I murmur.

“It’s okay, you had to stay with Iris,” he says. “That’s good. Is she alright?”

I nod.

“Good,” he repeats. “Good. We’ll make it, Cassie. You’ll see.”

“We have to.”

“Yes,” he concedes, “that as well. But we want this, him, too. Don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, why don’t you hold him?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Damn,” he says playfully. “Hm, maybe you should risk it?”

I do. I step closer and let my hands slide over Arthur’s warm and small body. He stirs without waking and I start to lift him up. I remember the time when my little sister was a baby and let my ability help me to carry him without disturbing his sleep, although I consider telekinesis might unsettle a newborn in another way. But it works and then he lies on my chest, his weight a very physical reminder of the responsibility Sorata and I have accepted.

“That’s just the start, Cassie,” Sorata whispers. “The hard work comes soon enough.”

I chuckle. “I won’t forget!” I’ve tried my best to be quiet but finally, Arthur wakes up to stare at me with big, confused blue eyes. I expect him to start crying at any moment and wonder how long it’ll take until Iris will hear him by accident.

“Hello Art,” Sorata says. He caresses Arthur’s bald head to calm him. It’s so easy for him, to my surprise, and I almost think it can be easy for me too. But I fear it’ll take some time until I will call him my son, and us his parents.

* * *

**Our wedding is**  a very modest affair that, apart from our vows to each other, requires merely the signing of a few documents with Hope and an interim government official as witnesses. But that would’ve been the same for any Red marriage and doesn’t emphasize the novelty of the event in our case. Because the official herself doesn’t know the proper forms for the union of a mixed couple. She switches between reluctance and subservience in the moments when Sorata feels it essential to show off his rank as a Scarlet Guard captain. “Ms. Bench, aren’t all of those forms here newly created?” he reminds her. “It can’t be a problem to make some adjustments.” Indeed, after the destruction of Archeon, many government buildings were lost, including their supplies. The Scarlet Guard helped rebuilt and create makeshift solutions to maintain order.

The official, of course, has been schooled to yield to the organization, as a Silver civilian. But the discussions leave a stain on this day and I wish it wasn’t necessary to start our marriage with bribes and lies. Although especially the latter appear to turn into a condition in matters concerning little Arthur. It seemed like the best thing to fill out the adoption papers on the same day, yet in reality, we’re close to overtaxing the official’s understanding and patience.

Even producing Arthur’s birth certificate (forged) and the death certificate of his purported “mother” (purloined and misused) only satisfies the official once we feed her a gossip-y sob story about the deceased Silver commoner Florence Wylder who died choking on fumes in a fire three days ago. “She was my dear friend and the discarded paramour of my infamous cousin Dominic Ventos,” I tell her dramatically. “Their little baby survived, as the burner ability he got from his father saved him. The only good thing about cousin Dominic, may he rest in peace.”

“The father’s deceased as well?” the official asks curiously.

I nod and wipe my eyes as I hold Arthur up. “So, all we want is to be recorded as the legal parents of my friend’s son, my nephew,” I sniff. Sorata puts his arm around my waist for emphasis. The official hesitates one last time before she comes up with a document fitting well enough. She couldn’t withstand protecting Arthur with his admirable cuteness.

* * *

**When we return**  home, Sorata goes back to packing his things after a quick kiss. 

“Are you excited for tonight?” he asks.

“Always”, I moan and grin. We’ll have a wedding night but not much more. We’ve waited a month as Iris recovered but now she’s called it time to return to the Lakelands with Sorata as her companion. She told me herself she’d prefer him. “We get along very well and he’s higher up in the Scarlet Guard, as well as good at negotiating our way through any possible obstacles,” she said and shrugged.

“I’ll miss you,” I said, and she smiled sadly.

“I always said I’d do this,” she reminded me at last. And tomorrow, she’ll meet Sorata’s superior to make her pledge to the Scarlet Guard.

And now I’m left to tend Arthur alone, along with Hope. Already we plan to change our location, as secrecy will be less needed once Iris is gone. I’m still undecided. I could move closer to the rest of my family members, to my mother and brothers, or to my father. Or to the Red woman who sells us her own milk to feed Arthur, in exchange for my services as security guard in her quarter.

“She has no qualms about ordering me around like a queen either,” I tell Arthur. Of course he doesn’t care as long as he gets fed.

“Cassandra.”

I wince with surprise at hearing Iris’s voice behind me. I don’t turn around. “How come you’re here?” I ask instead.

She hesitates. I hear her take a sharp breath. “I come to congratulate you. And to visit him – once."

“You’ve successfully evaded him so far.”

“Yes.” She steps closer. “It was possible because you supported me so superbly.” She taps on my shoulder and I find myself looking into her beautiful grey eyes. “I thank you for that,” she says.

In turn, she looks at Arthur in my arms, probably for the first time. She lifts her hand and a finger faintly touches his cheek. Time slows for a moment and I’ve no idea what she’ll do – until she pulls away with a jerk. Yet another time I can watch Iris gather herself into a paragon of calmness. Now I know how often it’s a pretend.

“You can still change your mind,” I say, whatever it’d cost me to oblige. “If you don’t want him to grow up as a prince, you could stay with us, too. I’m sure we’d find a way to live together, under the radar …”

Iris take my free hand and leans against me. “Yes,” she whispers. “How pretty that sounds. Such a pretty dream …” Her closeness, offered so rarely and yet so intimate, makes me blush.

“Sure,” I murmur in turn as my eyes wander between the now sleeping Arthur and Iris.

Again, it’s her who interrupts the moment. I still find myself stunned by her subtly queenly demeanour, full of grace and majesty. Iris never forces me into anything yet I could never disobey her wishes.

But now her brown cheeks are underlined with a silvery flush as well. She walks back a step and pulls out an envelope. “I’ve written something for Arthur,” she says, suddenly shy. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll read the letter to him in three years, when we’ve already met again, or after I’ve completely changed my stances I wrote about here. However, I don’t want to leave him without nothing.”

“No,” I say.

She nods. “I’ll tell Maven if I ever see him again. You don’t have to bother with that.” The corners of her mouth twitch joylessly. “Well, Cassandra, thank you again for your care, and your offer. But I can’t do that. I can’t live in hiding and waste what power and influence I was born with.” She swallows. “Not even for my child. Not in this situation, with the war I tried to end starting again.” She balls her fists and throws a firm, determined glance at Arthur.

In a way, he is the result of the peace she wanted to make.

“I think,” I say into the pregnant silence, “you make the right decision in keeping him out of the politics and fights. And I’m not just saying this because I want to keep him with me.” I smile and she smiles back, even broader than me. What a rare, what a lovely sight an honest smile of her is.

“I’m honoured by your trust in me,” I say.

She comes back to me and kisses my forehead. “Goodbye, Cassandra,” she breathes. “Until we meet again.”

“I wish you luck, my Queen. I’ll wait to see you again, after you brought victory to the cause.”

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _As I wrote this, I realized it was a great mistake that last year, I decided I won’t ship Cassie and Iris. _I wasted such a chance.__

_I chose Arthur’s birthday as on March 26 th, 2015, I started to read _Red Queen _for the first time. This is the last chapter I had prepared before joining AO3, so updates will be slower for now^^° Well, for this fic. I still have one-shots to post._

 

 


	27. Mare

**Mare POV**

**After all, the** choke still reeks of ash, smoke, and death. Not because I’m caught with others in a trench, nor because we’re marching over it. Actually, we’re even a few kilometers beyond the former battlefield. But these scents have left impressions you can never escape in nights of fighting, no matter how tight I try to close my eyes, mouth, and ears. Because the gasmasks are for solders in zones with real danger of chemical weapons while I’m standing off enough to be safe from the bombs I can’t stop from falling. That’s my task here, to take the Lakelander airjets off the sky before they shoot their missiles, so all explosives going off happen only because I let them.

* * *

**On my first** day in the fights, General Akkadi personally showed me what she wants electricons like me to do. She pointed to the sky and told me to impair the enemy planes flying over the choke. “They don’t have a large air force, and it’s less advanced than Norta’s too,” she said. “That makes them easier targets, and it’s more likely we’ll stop their aerials attacks soon.” Then she lifted her binoculars to the twilight sky and began to warn me off the enemies above us seconds before they became visible, using her Newblood seer ability.

It took me a few tries to find the right timing and reach to hit them, and thus, I was left to wonder what they’d do, who’d suffer because of them. It was a very sobering, very frightening thought. One that continues to keep me going.

Akkadi was patient. Calmly, she reported the next jet, one after another, and every time, I tried harder until the first jet exploded in a flash of fire and purple lightning. Akkadi patted my shoulder and asked me to watch out for the next, and the next, and the next. She told our gunners when they’d make a better hit and reminded me to think of that myself. “You aren’t supposed to be able to take every plane own,” she said.

_But we still shouldn’t allow any bombs to fall._

“The seer I’m assigning to you knows this as well, and he’ll point out who’ll be best,” she added.

I startled, and she shook her head. “Unfortunately, we don’t have as many seers, nor electricons, as I’d like, so occasionally, I do this duty as well,” she answered my unasked question. “But most of all,” she looked at me and over to the gunners in my team, “it is your duty, soldiers.”

So, this is what I’ve been doing in most days and nights in the weeks hence.

* * *

**I came to** share Tiberias’s fascination for the different types of planes as to know them helps immensely to decide how to impair them. And often, I feel pride to perform these acts to protect our army and the rest of the country. Yet, the task itself is either tedious or a surge of adrenaline. I, the gunners and the scouts securing the slope of our outpost, are supposed to look out for Lakelander soldiers sneaking in, but honestly, I doubt I’d notice them before the scouts do or our seer, Roman Eagrie, despite his eyes being fixed to the sky. They know what they’re doing.

Tonight, there aren’t much enemies coming for us. It’s always both relieving and unsettling as although I don’t have to kill anyone this way, it might just mean the Lakelanders have found a new tactic to surprise us, or that they’re aware of the Lightning Girl taking down their air force.

Eagrie said the same thing once. “Your lightning is pretty much a sign to them by now, Operative Barrow. So I have hopes you’re all ready for the time they come for us,” he said cynically.

I shrugged. “What else can I do?”

For once, Eagrie turned away from the sky to look at me. “I’ve heard the Lightning Girl is a very skilled opponent in every confrontation,” he said, and grinned. “Since we’re already trusting you with our lives.”

I blushed and told him to focus back on his task and not a minute later, I had a reason to use my lightning again.

Yet, I haven’t forgotten of change of tactics on either side could anytime.

* * *

**At first, before** I arrived, the Nortan and Guard forces drove the Lakelanders back over the border, into the choke, then into their own lands. But the charge stopped there and now, the only difference to last year and the 100 years before is that we’ve finally manged to enter the Lakelander territory with its swampy meadows as our battlefields.

More and more, it feels like a trap, a new strategy on the Lakelanders’ part. As the choke provided no victory, probably was never supposed to, the Lakelander generals could’ve chosen to fight on familiar grounds to defeat the “Nortan” army that became such a compound of different factions. And I dread the snapping of that trap.

* * *

**The sunrise is** preceded by a rainbow of colours, promising a sunny day in May after a cold night. The grey world of the twilight is only partly taking on colours as Tyton approaches our outpost. “You’re half an hour early,” I say to him.

He shrugs. “I’m ready to take over,” he replies, as serious as ever.

Eagrie lights a cigarette and earns himself a scornful glare from Tyton. “But you aren’t off-shift yet,” he reprimands Eagrie.

Eagrie takes a long draw. I turn away. “And why didn’t you wait for my aunt Moira to come with you?” he asks Tyton. Moira Eagrie, his young aunt, is the only other member of his house who came here to support us and a seer assigned to Tyton. “Are you showing off how dutiful you are?” Eagrie adds snidely.

“Well, maybe the Lakelanders intend to exploit the shift change?” replies Tyton.

I swallow and take Tyton’s arm to stop him from worsening the quarrel. I’m about to chastise Eagrie as well when he says, “I’m still paying attention, thank you very much. As I’m supposed to. And with two electricons here now?” He shrugs. “Even assuming the enemy found out about our schedule, it’s unlikely that a plane will escape both of you.” He turns for a second to smirk at me.

Tyton scoffs and concentrates on the sky as well. He’s incredibly tense and focused. I’ve only known him as a no-nonsense person but since Ella died, his demeanour changed from aloof and endearingly annoying to deadly serious.

Moira Eagrie arrives 15 minutes later, running and still fighting her red hair, the gunners in their team in tow. She shares a brief hug with her nephew before I call the shift change finished and allow my unit to leave for our beds. I hesitate to go as well, though. I glance to Tyton. “Till later,” I say to him, offering him a slight smile. He nods, a corner of his mouth twitches.

“Stay alive, Purple,” he says.

* * *

**I pass the** tent of Kilorn and Rafe along my way to the mess. I intend to wake them but they’re already up, sharing a good morning kiss on the green.

“Be careful,” I call to them, “I’m not so sure that General Akkadi approves of couples in a unit.”

Rafe laughs and Kilorn shakes his head, blushing pink. “Mare, don’t you know?” he asks. “Battle couples are the most effective.”

“Hmm,” I groan, then smile again. They’re scheduled to work the “electricon shift” in the evening into the next night, as I’m allowed a little break after 12 hours on the outpost. I’m accordingly tired but I cherish the chances to eat breakfast together with my friends. I could fall asleep over my bread, while still listening to Rafe and Kilorn’s banter.

The mess was rather empty when we came in, as many soldiers were already off to their assignments. Yet, in the last minutes, the hall’s been starting to fill again, in a trickling manner. A commotion gathers around the small screen under the ceiling, so far emitting only white noise. I look at the screen, expecting some more or less interesting news, as usual. But as the picture clears, Tiberias becomes visible.

I stiffen. “Citizens of Archeon and the whole of Norta,” I hear him croak from the speakers. “I, Tiberias Calore, am here to announce my abdication and further refrain … “

I stop listening. I’ve become good at it. Actually, as the conversations in the mess become more excited, it’d demand too much of my attention to understand his words. He said the most important thing, as he promised. Now I can focus on his surroundings, avoid the part of the screen he occupies. I find Farley standing right behind him. She seems smug, unusually amused.

“Today, May 15th 322…” Tiberias continues, and I flinch at the date. When you work in alternating shifts, including the nights, it becomes difficult to keep track of the concepts of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I’ve forgotten which date it is now, and I’m hit with a slight shock.

Is this why Farley looks so satisfied? May 15th is Clara’s birthday and now, it’s becoming a historical date. Did she even orchestrate this timing? No, I guess she would’ve rather spend the day –

Or she did it for me, replacing what Tiberias and I did one year ago with an entirely new and more important event.

I take one last bite of my bread before I get up. Kilorn looks at me with worry. I shake my head. “I’m too tired for this,” I say, and search my way out and to my own tent.

My tent is empty, as most times. The woman I’m sharing it with, Nadine Scobel, usually has other shifts and duties, so our sleeping times overlap seldom. I fall onto my sleeping bag, only kicking my boots off and loosening my belt. I’m terribly exhausted, yet I try my best to think of other things than Tiberias and the resent he still causes me. And the memory of how different it was one year ago. I don’t want to spend my thoughts on him. But he infiltrates them again and again until I fall asleep.

* * *

**Much too early** , I’m woken by sirens. I’ve hardly readjusted my pants when Nadine opens the tent flap and shouts, “Code R, Mare! Grab a bag and then run!” Wet black hair clings to her brown skin, more wet streaks show on her shirt. I get up to follow her, glad I haven’t fully undressed before. “R” means immediate flight and despite my lack of sleep, I run after Nadine. I’m grateful for the bloody running training I’ve done for a year, so my stamina chases off the fatigue along with the surges of adrenaline. As I follow the other soldiers coming together to be led to a certain direction, I look over my shoulder in an attempt to figure out the cause of the evacuation. I don’t really expect to see anything, trusting our scouts to warn us in time, but my instinct demands it. Indeed, the first thing I notice aren’t bombs in the sky, nor a marching army. I hear a low sound, getting louder and louder until it – literally – floods the camp: The waters, only puddles and creeks the days before, are rising and taking what was our camp in a torrential wave. It breaks only a few dozen meters behind me and already, Lakelander nymphs are surfing on the following waves, chasing us.

“Bloody fucking shit,” I curse under my breath and search for familiar faces. Kilorn, next to Rafe with his green braids, is relievingly easy to find. So are the other members of my team. I look further around as good as I can and notice the slope of our outpost. “Tyton!” I hiss, calculating the slope must now be behind the enemy lines.

Once more I’m glad that at least my brothers are safe from this battlefield. I stop a nymph coming for me with web lightning, then send up three quick flashes in the pattern we chose as a signal. Rafe answers, and closer than I feared, I see Tyton’s white lightning as well.

_Oh, good._

Still fighting off the Lakelander Silvers behind us, we’re guided to an off-route where our own nymphs work in concentration. They draw the water away from us and the Lakelanders to create a temporary river that’s soon frozen over by our Newblood and Gliacon shivers.

“Hardly the right shoes for this,” Nadine pants. Inevitably, our escape slows on the ice but the soldiers staying back to fight the enemy protect our backs. “What about them?” I murmur and ponder on turning around, too. Nadine shakes her head, yet I’m already throwing lightning in the opponents’ direction.

I see four go down but suddenly, the ground beneath my feet becomes even more slippery. A Lakelander nymph grins just five meters behind me. The water she bends over our ice road melts the “ground” and while try to outrun the melting, my foot steps into nothing and I fall down.

The puddle I’m in pulls at me and I slide further away, even as Nadine calls. “Run!” I scream, turning slightly to release another lightning. Whether it hits, I can’t see, the water holds me too tight for that. Soon, I can feel it lifting me in the air.

_Shit, shit, shit –_

If I get closer, I can target the nymph with electricity although she has to know that and thus holds me away from her. But I won’t go down like this, without resistance. I let my whole body pulse and buzz with electricity, sparks fly around. Who comes will get electrocuted, even if it remains a helpless resistance so far.

Consequently, the nymph and her arriving comrades don’t give up either, and what use has lightning if you’re drowning three meters above the ground? My kicking and paddling don’t inhibit my foes and yet, I lurch suddenly as a bright light crosses my sight.

The water falls off me and so do I. I crash and cough and see the nymphs who captured me dead on the sodden earth. Someone rushes to me, and I scramble up, despite my hard landing. Behind me are more Lakelanders who would love to get at me. But in front of me is Tyton, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward. “Come!” he shouts, and another bright flash surges from his hand.

“Was that brain lightning?” I wonder as he heaves me back onto the ice road, with Nadine’s help. He winces and nods. “Told you I needed someone to try on.”

And while we run again in the direction of wished-for safety, Premier Davidson finally arrives at the rearguard to wield off our attackers with his shield.

* * *

**In the end** , we electricons and other Newbloods and called again to fight off the Lakelanders to secure our retreat as good as possible. After only two hours of sleep and five hours of running and fighting, I can hardly stand when Arezzo the teleporter finally picks me up to bring me to safety. The battle isn’t over yet, only those at the front are switched, the injured taken away – while leaving the dead.

Once I can allow myself to lie down in the crowded, makeshift and hopefully secure camp on a meadow, I sleep for 16 hours.

* * *

**When I wake** , the camp is eerily quiet and filled with queasiness and whispered rumours. Akkadi and Davidson are back to rouse us, lightening spirits and sending us back to marching.

“General Akkadi had a contingency plan for something like this,” Nadine remarks. “But I guess she didn’t consider the queen of the Lakelands herself setting up this snare.”

“The Lakelander queen?” I ask. The queen who’s said to stay in her capital has something of a mythical being.

Nadine nods. “As if the she wasn’t content with the way the war progresses. Only she’s skilled enough to have done this, gather the waters around our camp so we wouldn’t notice for days, then release it in one torrent.”

“Well shit,” Kilorn says, kicking a stone. “But she failed, right?”

“The retreat was a success;” I say. “I think, she might not try this again, after this result.” Although both parties seem to have suffered equal losses.

“Hmm. Yet General Akkadi had only this one escape route,” Nadine objects.

* * *

**In the evening** , we arrive at a village. It’s mostly empty of people, likely Akkadi sent forces ahead to claim it for us. It makes me uneasy, but what can I say – war has its ugly side. Still, a few inhabitants remain, watching us with resent, suspicion and feigned submissiveness. Most of them avoid us, but of course, both parties have to interact in some ways, as awkward as it is.

At night, I’m back to watch out with Eagrie once more. He’s freer  with his cigarettes tonight, considering aerial assault unlikely.

“I still expect you to do your best, Eagrie,” I remind him.

He takes a long draw, careful to exhale the fumes away from me. “I’ve been here before,” he says, “in this village. It has been a border town for the whole time, being taken and re-taken again and again.” He inhales again. “Some villagers would run, but the rest has been staying, no matter what happens. They’re … used to it and defending their home in their own ways.”

“Damn,” I reply. That doesn’t make me feel better. Nor should it. What does home even mean to me? I haven’t seen the stilts in ages, and I don’t really miss it, not in the way I miss my family or those I’ve lost. In the end, I assume, if it wasn’t for the war and bloodshed, I’d like the journeys I’ve done.

I clear my throat. “Eagrie? Don’t dissemble and watch keep.”

He scoffs, and both of us turn our eyes to the night sky.

* * *

**The next morning** , we walk into the village tavern for an uncomfortable breakfast. The glances of the locals continue to feel sinister but Davison decided to make use of the tavern kitchen to cook and distribute our food reserves. At least we have those, and don’t have to rely on foraging so far. Yet I want to take my meal and leave the building as soon as possible.

But Eagrie stops at the threshold and stares while I can’t get past him. “Gracious queen, how come you’re here…!” he utters and walks to another man in the room. He wears a Scarlet Guard captain uniform and seems vaguely familiar. A hooded person sits next to him and looks down.

Eagrie hugs the captain enthusiastically. I’m not surprised, he rejoiced on an equal scale when he met his cousin Lacey Ventos again after a long separation.

I shake my head and am about to say goodbye when the hooded person turns their – her – head. It’s another familiar profile and as I walk the village streets to find Kilorn, my mind works on making a connection. Only when I can already see him in the distance, I realize and gasp, stunned by the presence of the missing princess, the ex-queen Iris Cygnet, inside a secret Scarlet Guard camp.

 


	28. Mare

**Mare POV**

**The march begins** in two days hence, but Iris Cygnet already stands on the frontline-to-be like a raised flag. It’s because of her cape, long and waving in the wind. In hindsight, that piece of clothing alone should’ve given her away when I saw her first. Who wears a blue cape with such intricate design and embroidery, more-so in a war-camp? Not that it’s indecently sumptuous, only richly made. Apparently, Iris can’t wait for the enemy to see her, or she merely likes to pose majestically as she faces the direction we’re going to take. Maybe they aren’t as of much of an enemy to her as to us, as they’re Lakelanders, her citizens. Yet she’s too careful to rely alone on their knowledge of their princess and their loyalty to her, as she wears functional black armour beneath the conspicuous cape. She wears both all the time, whether she walks over battlefields or in the camp, either leading or training our nymphs. By now, I’ve finally seen what Iris can do with rain and it left me believing in the claims she made to our leaders, promising to breach the enemy lines which we – so far –  failed do on our own.

* * *

**After she arrived** , on a meeting I took part in, Iris conveyed this eloquently without saying it all too plain. She sat in her chair like it was a throne, flanked by Captain Ives, the companion who brought her who’s also Roman Eagrie’s new brother-in-law. That was strange enough, not even to speak of the apparent trust Iris put in the Red-blooded Ives. The commanders, meanwhile, tried their best to hide their own confusion when dealing with the ex-queen of Norta, now the crown princess of the Lakelands.

“When I pledged to the Scarlet Guard recently,” Iris said, “it was decided it’d be for the best if I joined these fights. That aligned with my own intentions, I admit. I’m offering you my powers in the ways you see fit, Generals, but I think to be the greatest asset among your own nymphs, teaching – and eventually – leading them.”

Her polite tone was met by dark expressions, me contributing my part. She wasn’t swayed by them. “Not to forget I know how to work against the tactics my mother and her generals use, so this stalemate will be over before it drags on as long as before.”

Akkadi took a sharp breath. “As if you’re the only capable one here, ma’am? We’re to rely on your word to sabotage your own mother and not us?”

Iris swallowed, hesitating, pondering. “Indeed,” she agreed. “Indeed. If it soothes your suspicions, I did come with requests relating to my support.”

The room, curious for more, lost a little tension as if this was only to be expected. Silvers with “requests” were familiar ground.

Iris noticed this too. I saw her take Ives’s hand in the shadows under the table. “Firstly, I wish to negotiate with my mother in person. I’m certain you realize the advantage of that.”

I heard a few people starting to mumble. “Her fault for vanishing and provoking the water witch to run rampart.”

Iris continued, mostly unperturbed but aware of the lack of an answer. “Secondly, I want my mother’s life to be spared.”

“Ma’am,” Davidson prepared to object. But he hardly knew how to address her, _ma’am_ being an acceptable cop-out. “That is a lot to ask, given her recent acts – “

“Weren’t it your allies, the Samos of the Rift, who instigated this?” Iris countered. “They attacked the Lakelands. Apparently, you let them. I wonder how Volo Samos convinced you, he and his family never seemed like the diplomatic sort to me.” She smiled. “Or that is just my impression, as they were never interested in being diplomatic and allying with _me_.

“However, I promise you to do better than them. I will settle this, and I will convince my mother to bring the peace as we intended to a year ago. And yes, that will include all of you, the Red activists of the Scarlet Guard. I can think of ways – “

“So you plan to keep your power and the rank of a crown princess, and queen-to-be?” Davidson inquired.

“That is not my plan.” Several gasps. From me, too. I couldn’t believe someone like her would be serious about this, and not only sweet-talk us like those before her. “My mother the queen,” she went on, “is the head of the church of our country, and she’ll act accordingly. To preserve and … to reform, too. Currently, she’s acting as a secular ruler which the head is usually supposed to leave to appointed politicians. She chose to change this for … family reasons, which you all know, my father and sister having been those appointed rulers. Yet, I see no reason why people like you should not replace the old agents so you can take your share in governing the Lakelands. There is no law forbidding this.”

“Now that is an offer, ma’am.” Davidson appeared duly smug. “Although you still sound very conservative.”

Iris blinked. “It is an offer, Premier Davidson. I wouldn’t presume to set this in motion without your advice, or the approval of the citizens of the Lakelands.” She looked around, scanning the room filled with potential enemies. “I do wish to preserve … some things,” she admitted. “Our faith, our traditions. Is that too much to ask?” She became more passionate with every word – which also revealed a subtle insecurity on her part. “There’re Lakelanders in this war, in this room. Do you wish to destroy our culture, hoping that alone will make everything better? I do not believe we need to shatter and forget the past to build anew, and therefore, I wish my mother to live – and repent.” A pleading note entered her voice. “If you cooperate, there’ll be amnesty for all Lakelander members of the Scarlet Guard.”

It was a wrong thing to say, angering the Lakelanders she tried to appeal to. Why would we need _her_ amnesty if we won? Then again, did we have the certainty to win? What would Farley have said to her?

“You’re praising a faith that benefits you, _your highness_ ,” a soldier sneered and this, finally, took Iris aback. She flinched.

“I … won’t continue to demand those benefits for myself. I swear,” she insisted. “The succession of religious leaders will be reorganized, too. I won’t take such a position. You understand, the defining features of the faith are not about division.”

“They aren’t?” someone scoffed.

Iris straightened. “No.”

“I’ve never heard – “

“Comrades, please,” a soldier from the Lakelands intervened. “It’s true. The faith is about the divinity surrounding us, in ourselves, in nature, in every moment. The Silvers spill their own nonsense to cement their rule, but when they argue with the faith, they’re kidnapping it.” And although the soldier cleared the ground for Iris with this, she had some glares left for Iris, too. “Not that we don’t expect you to live up to those grand promises, ma’am.”

Iris nodded, meeting her gaze. “Thank you, ma’am. Indeed, I’d claim to be too honourable to make empty promises.” She stood up. “But no matter what I say, I can only step forward as one of many. It won’t mean anything if no one follows. I can walk in the front of the battles to come, but it’s your choice to come with me.

“Will you follow me?”

What would’ve happened if they’d remained silent? The moment dragged on long enough to make me wonder. But I was one of those to raise a hand, and the affirmative calls began which Iris answered with her own, quiet, “rise, red as the dawn.”

I knew I couldn’t trust her words. But I trust in what she can do.

* * *

**„What storm we** could make together, Sergeant Barrow,” Iris says to me. She must’ve noticed me sneaking around her after the end of my shift. It was an early end, due to the preparations for the coming charge. Although I’ve been lurking for days, only not as near as today.

Now I close the distance between us, done with playing pretend. Yet she doesn’t turn to me at first, heavily focused on conjuring shapes out of the water and fluids in the air around us, that is, maybe in a radius of 25 meters. When she looks at me over her shoulder, the patterns she made freeze for a second, before, with a swing of her arm, they change from “shields” and “arrows” into stylized lightning. Or a liquid cage.

She tilts her head. “Wouldn’t we?”

I scoff. “I’m not sure,” I reply. “The wind element’s still missing, isn’t it? Or is that the ability of your friend Ives?”

She shakes her head. “Technically …” She smiles. “No, he couldn’t.”

“You really like him? I’m surprised, Iris.” She’s stunned too, at my use of her first name. “I thought you royals don’t have friends, much less Red ones.”

The personal topic flusters her visibly and as she fights to maintain her composure, I expect her to just send me off. Yet I’m amused, enjoying to unsettle a Silver royal. Because she’s one, no matter what she announces. She must be used to this by now and swallows a breath. “He brought me here, and helped me out before. He became a friend to me.” She shrugs. “I assume you can understand that.”

I don’t really, but I respect her unspoken plea for privacy on that. To a point. “Certainly.” I smile back. “But I’m merely wondering, like so many here, what it was he helped you with, which kept you missing for so long.”

“I see. This is another trial about trust.” She stares at me while no muscle in my face moves. The water continues its play. Iris sighs. “I feel inclined to remind you I’m here by choice, on my own account, and allying with your cause.”

“An alliance you let us pay for dearly.”

“Have I asked for any untoward conditions?” She’s less calm now, for her standards. “All I’ve brought up I did believing it’d benefit the Scarlet Guard in the end.”

The watery shapes turn back into a shield and attack pattern, as if with the lightning pattern gone, our conversation is over. But Iris doesn’t even turn away from me. She continues to fixate with her gaze until I’m the one to give in. “Why would you think,” she begins, quieter now, “I haven’t paid dues on my own for the peace I wish for?”

I can’t avoid to snicker. “Excuse me,” I say. “But that’s something I know a lot about.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “If we have finally something in common, why not use this common ground as a reason to return to my request?” I blink. “To call forth a storm?” she adds.

I shrug, then start to show off some of the tricks I learned from Ella. But despite Iris’s talk of a common ground, she revealed nothing about what she claims to have given up, although I can imagine enough, especially in case of someone who came too close to Maven Calore.

* * *

**Merciless rains fall** during our march. The dark and grey sky forebodes the coming battle and the air feels charged with electricity, whether from a gathering storm or just from my ability I can’t say. It certainly erases any easiness in our approach, with water soaking our clothes, tents and food. Our boots often stay stuck in the mud. But to march we have as our schedule is tight, decisively so. We’re supposed to sneak closer to the Lakelander camp for a surprise attack as long as our own location remains unknown.

“I wonder if Lakelanders conjured this bloody weather!” Kilorn curses.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” I reply in agreement. The rain feels like a threat on its own, like a poison, a noose about to strangle us.

“That is unlikely.” Kilorn and I jerk when we hear General Akkadi joining our talk. Iris Cygnet walks next to her, no doubt trying to glean as much information as possible.

“The General is right,” she agrees. “The stormcallers of the Lakelands could do this in theory, but not for so long. Not when they don’t know our exact location. Rather they would create fog or a storm right before the battle begins.”

“What a smart-ass,” Kilorn whispers and I elbow him while suppressing my own snicker.

“Let’s hope this warning will help us when the time comes,” I say.

Iris nods. “Then, we’ll all work together to spring our own trap.”

* * *

**Even on the** trek scouting remains a necessity. Still I’m in a team with Roman Eagrie and keep my lightning ready for a charge. But this night has a different kind of tension, when our attention is as vital while we’re much less safe.

Eagrie touches my arm. “Hush, stop,” he whispers. My eyes widen and I summon lightning in my fingertips while keeping it weak enough to hide it from view. Eagrie takes his rifle off his back, aims and shoots four times in one fluid motion.

“Done?” I murmur.

He checks for a few more seconds, then relaxes. “Yes.”

“You’re a good shooter,” I say as we go to look for the bodies.

He smiles wrily. “It helps when you know you’ll hit the target.” The four enemy scouts are certainly dead but I don’t feel at ease yet. Instead, a sense of danger lingers on my mind. Even more so when the leaves of the woods rustle.

I shove Eagrie aside and create a lightning shield before the Lakelander can assault us. But the person appearing isn’t a Lakelander, at least not an enemy one. I _tsk_. “You’ve scared us, Princess Iris,” I say sarcastically although my heart still beats fast. “Or did you want them to take you with them?”

She shakes her head and comes closer. Amusement shines in her eyes, even in the dim torch light. At least she can get a joke. “Well done,” she says. “But their absence will send its own kind of message to their commander.”

I shrug.

“To answer your question, Sergeant Barrow,” she says, “no. I didn’t intend that. Yes, I plan to negotiate but a battle is unavoidable. It’ll be to the advantage of the Scarlet Guard as well to fight one.”

“If we win,” I object.

She nods. “I believe you’ll be vital to that victory. Good night.” She turns to leave, her cape dragging on the wet ground. Does the clamminess even bother her? Then she stops. “I wonder, Sergeant, why you chose to fight.” She points to the sky. “It was decided one electricon has to stay back to keep up with the interceptions of the airjets, as a distraction.” That’s true, Tyton’s the one. “That could’ve been you,” Iris goes on, “and yet you’re here.”

She seems frankly curious, but I’m not in the mood for banter and chatting. “I’m fed up with people making decisions for me, and I rather fight my battles myself.”

“I’m sure of that.” She looks at me, expectant, understanding. I almost wait for her to apologize for being complicit in my imprisonment, and a thousand other matters.

“Can I make a request?” she asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Another one?”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “Just a last one, please,” she says. I wave a hand.

It replaces her amusement with earnestness. “I’d be grateful if you told me whether you killed Maven,” she asks. “Or whether he’s alive at all, if you knew.”

I suck in a breath. She craves to know this and her eyes are adamant, demanding an answer. I hate how I freeze when he’s mentioned. Iris notices and lowers her head respectfully. She gives me a moment but doesn’t apologize or waves it off.

“I have not,” I spit out. “You should ask Tiberias. Didn’t you leave behind him with his brother?”

She almost bows this time. “I thank you, Mare Barrow.” I shrug, swallow the topic before it can fester in my mind. Now she takes her leave for good, and raindrops follow, forming into swivels like an aethereal train. So ostentatious, a showiness Maven would’ve liked.

* * *

**Breaks are soggy** affairs, as is sleep. Whether we walk or rest, the rain is an incessant nuisance. In our sleeping bags, I cuddle against Kilorn to fight the clamminess with body warmth, with Rafe on his other side.

“Look,” Rafe says, pointing to white lightning in the distance. “It’s Tyton in action.”

I smile. “Good to know.”

Rafe sighs. “Too bad we can’t answer him.”

I nod. “Soon, he’ll see us as well.” Soon, when the real battle starts.

* * *

**The call comes** too soon. The camp rises, everyone runs to get into formation. “Seems like the Lakelanders found us first,” pants Nadine. “That demands operation B2, Barrow!”

“Sure!” I nod and we head to our respective units. The thrill of the coming battle courses through me, mixing fear and excitement.

_Now it happens._

General Akkadi organizes the troops like a conductor, setting everyone in place according to the plans and her absolute foresight. She nods to me, pointing to my position at the front line. I swallow and go on, searching my way through the crowd and seeing more of the enemy with every step. Fortunately, we have the higher ground, standing on the upper end of the slope they’re climbing. At the foot of the hill, fog gathers and clouds the expanse of their army.

But their nymphs are at the front, as planned, already threatening to destroy our advantage in position by, once again, pulling away the ground beneath our feet. The mud only makes that easier

Our nymphs are prepared for this charge, about to counter the Lakelanders by interfering with their own control over the element. As a result, the water supposed to wash us away and flood the camp is turned into a whirlwind gyrating around the frontlines, more and more resembling the eye of a storm.

Akkadi barks several commands to get us into place, calling back armed soldiers while Rafe and I step forward on both ends of our vanguard, the nymphs between us, and only waiting for Akkadi’s next order. She’s still scanning the whole of the battlefield, assessing the perfect moment. Terrifying seconds drag on and current tickles my skin. Yet when the call comes, I hesitate. Am I ready for this? Are the nymphs? If this goes wrong …

I release my breath and stop thinking, I fall to my knees and put my hands onto the ground, into a puddle. And then, I let loose all the electricity I can summon, once, twice, until nothing is left.

The current, both from me and Rafe, is conducted by the muddy earth and swirls of water controlled by our nymphs, leading directing towards the enemy. They can’t get away, first paralysed by the shocks and soon killed by them.

I sink into the mud, wholly depleted. But it was a success, the majority of the enemy vanguard is down as well, unconscious or electrocuted. Akkadi shouts again, urging me to rise as we have no time to spare when timing is absolute. I have to get up, and now our gunners step forward to shoot anyone still standing. Yet as I move, my eyes stray over our nymphs, searching for losses. By Akkadi’s visions and command, they should’ve known when to sever the physical link to the water conduits to stay safe, but I might’ve just as well taken down some of our own.

“Help!” someone cries, and m head spins. There they are, my victims. I can’t run past them, so I go straight to the source. Iris Cygnet was the one who called, and she bends over an unconscious nymph, grabbing a knife to cut through his uniform and start to massage his chest.

“I don’t think he needs any more electricity, Sergeant Barrow,” she hisses.

“No,” I say. “I’m sorry – careful!” I shout, and she looks up to see the Lakelander soldier heading towards us.

Iris curses. She lets go of the nymph and fumbles for a gun; she shoots just in time but the Lakelander outstretches a hand and the bullet dissolves in a heat wave.

An oblivion.

I try to call my lightning but it’s still too soon – nothing happens. Iris spills another surge of curses in her native tongue and gather a water wall as a defense. Still I can feel the next shockwave coming from the oblivion. He forces through, causing Iris to shift her water wall.

“What should we …” I utter, but she already grabs my hand and wraps us in another wave, just before the oblivion shatters the earth and we fall.

* * *

**I open my** eyes with a groan. Now I can add bruises to my exhaustion although I begin to feel again the sparks in my veins. I get up and check my surroundings, now a few hundred meters away form the battle. Not that I can reach it easily, as the ledge we were on has broken off. I find Iris on my other side, bending over the nymph once more. I approach her but her attempts at first aid are over, now she’s murmuring a few verses. Prayers. She doesn’t heed my presence until she’s done.

“Rest in peace, James Huntingdon” she concludes, and focuses on me. She nods. “Good you’ve gotten away as well.”

She stands up, about to get going on. Her stance reflects both weariness and determination, a stance I know all too well, one I force myself into often enough. “What do you intend to do?” I ask.

“Do you want to come with me?” she smiles, wrily. “I go to find my mother, I should be able to guess where she is.”

Of course. “Why should I? Do you want to present me as your prisoner?”

She frowns. “No.”

“You were okay with it before.”

Her lips quiver but don’t produce a straight answer. “I won’t force you into anything, Mare Barrow. You can come with me, or stay with James, or whatever else you think is best.”

When I don’t reply, she turns without looking back.

* * *

**I let her** go, and still I watch her. I shouldn’t, better I focus on a way back. I curse my bad luck at finding myself once again between the lines, unable to just rejoin my unit. Nor do I want to leave James behind. He died because of me, after all, and he deserves better than to be buried in mud.

I head to a higher ground to see more and even climb a tree to find a possible and safe way to return to the fights. Yet the broken ledge is still impossible to scale and I doubt I can carry James all the way round. It’d be safe enough for me though, although it’d also take me a day. I can’t decline my urge to look after Iris as well, as she’s easy to locate in her silly cape. How careless, but if she puts a conspicuous appearance above everything else? In front of her, the main body of the Lakelander army is harder to see. Strange.

Or not. The way the mist parts and gathers has no natural source, I can see that now. It must be controlled by nymphs or stormcallers and Iris is just a few hundred meters away from the fog, already becoming enwrapped in it herself. I doubt her sight is as good as mine, as long as she doesn’t chase off the fog.

So she can’t see he unit separating from the back of the army, marching in the direction of the frontline while hidden by fog and glamour.

“Oh you stupid girl, you’re walking into a trap!” I utter.

But so am I, since I jump off my tree and run after Iris.

* * *

**I’m about to** reach her just as she parts the fog but before I can warn her, its already too late – the soldiers appear from the mist and attack the intruder, unaware it’s their princess. Iris sidesteps as knives fly her way, one of them cutting her hand. The next moment, she’s lifted into the air and swung hard onto the ground.

I drop to the earth, too. Are they telkies? Or magnetrons who use her armour against her? Undecided between crashing into the scene and figuring out a better plan, I watch the enemy leader send their soldiers ahead. They vanish quickly, someone among them restoring their stealth. Their supposed purpose fills me with dread, certainly it’s a surprise charge against us. I grind my teeth. Why does their commander stay back? Have they finally recognized Iris? But when she tries to rise, a volley of something like spikes heads her way and she can only roll out of the way.

The commander has to be a magnetron.

Hit in the leg, Iris doesn’t get up. The Lakelander commander approaches her and strangely, he appears neither relieved to have finally found his princess, nor shocked to have assaulted her. No, when he bends down to grab her by the chin, his demeanour oozes smugness.

I sneak closer to be certain but I already know the man holding Iris in his grasp is Volo Samos.

“How come my mother released you from your king’s cage?” Iris sneers.

He cackles and grabs her tighter, probably choking her. “Haven’t you heard, _your majesty_? It seems that the Lakelanders and I have a mutual enemy,” he gloats. Iris groans. “Your mother the queen was against it, but in the end, she had to agree with her clever advisors.” When he smiles, I feel a surge of his power although I hardly wear any metals. He’s even stronger than Evangeline.

“But unfortunately. I have to see the rumours regarding you are true, and you do fight _for_ our enemy.”

Iris wriggles and kicks, her hands move to conjure water and assault Samos whose expression becomes aching. But the water that splashed his face falls down as he pushes on, to make Iris scream in pain.

“I wouldn’t try that again!” he calls and Iris’s knife leaves its sheathe and starts to levitate an inch from her head. “Do this another time, Your Highness, and you’re dead.” Then metal loosens from his armour and forms into a rope he uses to bound her hands. “After all these undignified months of captivity, I find myself truly fortunate,” he gloats some more. “When I return you to your royal mother, she’ll have no choice but to offer me clemency and acknowledgement of the Rift. Whether the same goes for you, I’m not so sure.” He rises and lets go of her throat, pulling her along by her manacles. “A disobedient child has to be punished.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure either.” Volo’s head spins around to face me and the lightning shooting from my hands, towards him.

“Barrow!” he yells and spikes fly off his armour, charged at me, and some of them making in to their target. I supress a cry of pain.

He only drops to a knee. Damn, my lightning is still too weak to kill him with one blow and I have my own problems to maintain my stance.

Iris doesn’t waste time. She used my attack to remove her manacles and collects water to lift Samos into the air, wrapping him into a whirl he can’t escape. She doesn’t have to give me a sign. Despite the bleeding wounds in my stomach and my leg, I summon all the electricity I can and throw it at Samos, frying him, letting it course through the water, his metal armour and his body until he’s only a charred mess.

* * *

**My knees sink** into a puddle and I stare at Volo Samos’s dead body with satisfaction. As long as I can. I would’ve fallen down completely if Iris didn’t come to pull me onto her lap. She tears at her cape, staunching my wound with it and her own bleeding hand. And yet, my red blood drops like the cursed rain and mixes with her silver blood.

She looks so determined, and yet so desperate. “Hang in there,” she pants, “I’ll have it bandaged soon!”

I chuckle, and rue it for the pain it brings, but hoping she’s right. But we’re in no man’s land, who should come to save us? “I’ve done it,” I whisper instead.

“Hm?”

“I told myself I was born to kill a king and now I’ve succeeded,” I cackle. It impedes Iris’s efforts but she only tries harder. “But it wasn’t the one I expected it to be,” I continue.

“So, you intend to kill another?” she asks, a little wary.

I sigh, both for the topic and the pain. “… I don’t know. I couldn’t face him. I have to. To tell him he has no power over me.” Although just having this thought means he still has. “He’s already done what he can to me,” I say.

Recognition dawns on Iris’s face. “Then you have to keep going, Mare!” Live, if only to spite Maven …” She continues to talk, I can hardly listen. “We’ll both live, and when this is al over, you’ll forget Maven and I’ll hold Arthur, just one time at least …”

I still hear her, and the sounds of the distant battlefield. But all I see is the white-grey sky that makes me feel like time has stopped.


	29. Evangeline

**_A/N_ ** _: One chapter to go after this one.._

_Also, attentive readers might notice that Eve acts erratically or contradicts herself. That is intentional._

**Evangeline**

**One noon in**  early May, I wake too ill to move, too ill to sleep on. A headache drills into my brain, coughs rack my throat. I laid down just before dawn and haven’t got enough sleep at all. So exhaustion adds to my terrible state. But I’ve been decreasing for weeks, as my food has lessened along with the way I make each night. I haven’t seen a bed and hardly ever a roof over my head during my aimless walk home which only cumulated my ordeals. While the world around me recovered from winter and bloomed into spring, I’ve weakened with every day. Now my limits have claimed me, caught me, and I can’t go on any longer.

Unless I ask for help.

* * *

**I have avoided**  meeting people and talking to them for the months on the road. That’s why I walk at night and sleep during the day. In towns, they’re less concerned about someone taking a nap during daytime than with finding someone obviously taking shelter in the streets at night. It was so my first dawning morning in the streets of Harbor Bay when the Red man felt the need to wake and speak to me. He was worried at first, but that changed quickly as my Silver blood was too apparent. “You better get back to your gang, before I call the Red Watch,” he threatened. After I left, I was astounded I obeyed him. But that was just the beginning of a series of realizations. I acted according to my education, as I was groomed to both obey and to take care of myself, or I’d be an unworthy scion of House Samos.

I adapt to the unknown and grow under the wandering stars Elane loves. The nights of my journey are a comfort, when only my shadow walks beside me in the moonlight and the stars guide me. They fill me with want, but it’s a hopeful yearning, not one of unreachable expectations. The night sky is the best reminder of what I crave to return to even when I get lost and delay my arrival, at times when I don’t know what the point of all this is. When I smell the forests and look to the stars over the grey darkness of nocturnal Norta, I feel at peace, free, by myself but not alone, yet also desiring to share this with Elane. I enjoy the solitude of the walk because the obscurity of the night distracts me from my insecurities and failure to serve my house by running away. I let them fend for themselves in a war for months. But I can’t help them now, and I expect them to meet me with scorn once I come home. I suspect if I walked during the days, I’d delay even more because I’d see this too clearly – and remember Tolly too much. The life in the sun has become too bright for me.

* * *

**I pack my**  things haphazardly and sling my sleeping bag over my shoulder in wish to stay warm and protected. I’m not sure I need that. The day isn’t as cold as others, and I feel the feverish heat rise inside of me. But I can’t let go, fearing the cold even more. As I walk back to the town I remember passing lately, I see the cabin I slept in yesterday. I must’ve made only 3 kilometers last night, at most. Of course, I’ve already been sick, and wishing it’d pass by itself. It didn’t, according to my terribly bad luck. Instead of going on, I get inside and lay down again.

How weak of me. How unworthy. I thought I could do this on my own, easily return to the Kingdom of the Rift after I left in shock. Finally free of the interferences by anyone, I’d have achieved something by myself, an adventure from which I’d emerge at the Rift like its savior. But it has turned into another long failure for which I can only blame myself – again.

And yet, I feel a tiny piece of relief by acknowledging I’ve done my best and still failed, something I could’ve never said to anyone, least of all my parents.

All Silvers claim how powerful we are. And how weak the Reds. But now, left to myself, I see who the resilient ones are and who the helpless. I cuddle into my sleeping bag and wish for Wren’s gentle hand on my brow, healing my illness in a few seconds so I can pretend it never happened. But that remains a dream and the coughs an aching reality. I long for Wren all the more although she’s a dangerous topic. What is she doing now? Does she miss Tolly, or does she try to ban him from her mind as I do? She always insists how she’s her own person, uninterested in being Tolly’s queen, or worse, his paramour to be gossiped about. Yet she loved him. Not the prince and desirable match, but the person he was. She saw him as I did, and loved him for that.

I want that Tolly back. So much. The brother who held me when I had no one else, who understood me like no other. Who looked after me, even when we were both children, like when I was four years old, and bruised, bleeding, and looking at my lost fingers on the ground in front of me. I cried when I knew I shouldn’t, feeling ashamed for it, for being unable to swallow the pain like the others magnetrons. When the trainer was about to scold me, Tolly stopped him, took me in his arms, and brought me to our skinhealer, never letting go of me.

Now sobs blend into my coughs, until I fall asleep again.

* * *

**The rest doesn’t**  last long. I grit my teeth (until the next cough), get up, and search my bag for my coins. I need every one of them as I’ve no idea what the medicine will cost. The Red pharmacist in the little town could ask for anything. I turn every wrinkle and corner and count every scrap, knowing full well I didn’t get them fairly. It was so easy to steal, and so shameful. I saw the purse with the coins and pulled it to me, in the early days when I was still too unwilling to use what  _she_  had given me. I couldn’t eat her food, nor spend her money after she’d taken Tolly’s life.

But using the stolen money felt just as wrong and I was hungry, no matter how hard I tried to fast.

I braid back my hair and assure myself no tress or hair is loose or out of place. The braids are so tight that I don’t know whether they or the illness causes my headache. Along with the coins I’ve found the one knife  _she_  granted me. There are moments when I hold it like a child does a plush toy, its sharp and smooth surface more comforting to me than skin or velvet. My fingers caress it once more and I laugh at myself (in regard to my condition). I shouldn’t have needed to search the coins, I’m a bleeding magnetron. But my ability is fainting in the same measure as the rest of my body. I might’ve found the coins with it but using it to move something almost makes me black out.

Once I’m done preparing, I continue my way, even if it leads me back for now. It’s all I can do to move forward at all.

It is hard to ask for help because it’s always an admittance of being unable to do something by yourself. That means you’re weak, and that is the greatest offense to every Silver. But what’s the difference between asking for help and demanding the service of a skinhealer? The command? In the end, it takes strength to ask for help, too, and I feel uncomfortable every second of it.

* * *

**It’s dusk when**  I knock on the pharmacist’s door and a dark-skinned boy of my age lets me in. He’s likely the pharmacist’s son and assistant since he resembles the pharmacist herself. She looks at me warily, certainly grasping the colour of my blood. I can’t let her deny me for that. I step forward and put my money on her counter. “I need an anti-fever medicine,” I groan from my sore throat.

The pharmacist considers my coins for so long I expect her to throw me out without serving me. The coins stir from my nervousness, out of my control. It’s the only way my ability shows at the moment, but it’s obvious enough.

“You’re one of them,” the boy says, earning a warning glance from his mother. “A magnetron of House Samos.” And he looks me over as the pharmacist did with the money, because my appearance destroys any doubt about my origins.

“Is that a problem?” I croak, hating the quietness of my voice and the time this is already taking. I turn to him while holding onto the counter. I need its support, and I need the drug …

“No, it isn’t,” I hear the pharmacist say behind me, finally. But I don’t see her approach me, ready to catch me just as I fall.

* * *

**They put me**  on a pallet in a guest room, wrapping me in towels and blankets, giving me food and finally the medicine. The pharmacist, Dilara, now accompanied by her husband, diagnoses a pneumonia. “Take the pills and rest,” she tells me, and sets down another plate with food.

“Show me no mercy,” I groan. “I don’t need your hospitality to do that …” Or that’s what I intend to say, before a set of coughs and sneezes stop me.

The pharmacist’s gaze is, indeed, merciless. Just in a different way. “I don’t think so,” she states simply.

“What should we call you?” asks Elyas, the son.

I cough. They wait.

“’You’ is enough.”

“ _You_?” the husband, Armin, inquires.

“Yū,” I clarify with emphasis and finally, they’re content to leave me alone to sweat and cough, spit and sleep out this illness.

* * *

**Two weeks of**  recuperation pass before I can even imagine leaving. I sit on their porch and am envious of the green landscape that has no idea of my ailments. Spring has left me behind and I can’t keep up. There’s relief in thinking that:  _I was ill and couldn’t go on_. I needed rest. I needed to admit I was weak to get better.

A door opens. “You’re well enough to sit outside?” Elyas asks.

“Well enough to go home,” I correct him.

He seems stunned and shakes his head. “I suppose we can’t stop you,” he says.

When I don’t reply, he begins to fumble with a lighter and a cigarette. I glare at him. “Keep that away from my poor lungs,” I say and I touch my stomach between my ribs with affectation.

He cackles. He just wanted to provoke me. “Here,” he says, “I’ve brought you some newspapers so you can get back in touch with the world.” Indeed, I was too sick to read more than a sentence in my first days here. He leaves the pile with me and steps away to smoke.

I file through the papers. The first one shows a photo of the elusive Queen of the Lakelands shaking the hand of Premier Davidson, the two of them flanked by Mare Barrow and Iris Cygnet. It’s almost like it were the two girls who’ve brokered this pact between the Lakelands, the Scarlet Guard, Norta and the republic of Monfort, just after they’ve fought each other.

Other papers report of the local skirmishes between Reds and Silvers, rebels and nobles. Each region fends for itself and anxiously, I search for mentions of the Kingdom of the Rift. But I find only the old news about the truce with the Lakelands.

The only other exciting article is about Tiberias’s abdication. The corners of my mouth twitch at his sight on the photo. He looks as usual, both determined and clueless. But my amusement vanishes when I see  _her_ right behind him. It takes too much of my control not to take Elyas’s cigarette and burn  _her_  face away, or to throw the paper into the bushes. I manage to merely shove it away from me. Meticulously. “I’ll go to bed,” I announce and rise.

“You haven’t read all of them yet,” Elyas remarks.

“Sum them up.”

He glances at me for too long. “The head of your house, Volo Samos, has fallen in the battle in the Lakelands,” he says eventually.

I give nothing away. Even when I feel a tear rolling down my cheek, I don’t allow a muscle in my face to move. If I did, would my face, seen in the mirror, tell me what I feel? Because I don’t know. Once, I needed Father’s praise more than the air I breathed. Now I realize that I felt that way because he suffocated me.

“Hey.” Elyas follows me inside with a decidedly worried plead in his voice. “Are you sure you’re ready to travel again?” he asks.

I look over my shoulder. “I’m honoured by your concern,” I reply. “But even now, when I know how hard and terrifying it is, I need to walk this path on my own.”

* * *

**“You can keep**  your money,” Dilara says. I still reach out, and she continues to shake her head. “I can imagine how you got that, and I rather let you go for free before you steal from someone else once you need more.”

The chastisement stings. “I’m sorry …”

“Don’t. You didn’t take it from us.”

I swallow. “No, I did take from you, and I’m grateful for that.”

She nods solemnly. “That’s better. Maybe you finally learn manners. But don’t tell people that I didn’t take charge. Because I do.”

“I promise you.”

She sighs. “Farewell, Yū.”

* * *

**The Kingdom of**  the Rift defends and patrols its borders so I can’t just continue my way until I reach my destination – Ridge House, I’ve decided. The soldiers pick me up although they don’t recognize me at fist. It takes them one hour for one of them to notice, and I didn’t correct them until they’ve found out. Then they start to revere me, to fuss over my wretched appearance. I know what horrible effect I must have on them. No shiny metal dress or armour, only worn, functional black clothes over an emaciated body. They bring me to a watch station and urge me to rest and eat. I almost laugh but obey. Yet their behaviour confuses me – they treat me like a preciously frail family member, not as the queen I should be to them. A part of me still resents this lack of deference but mostly, I know I wouldn’t deserve it. The Rift lost too much until the truce was achieved while I’ve been on the run, even I can see that. I did nothing for my home, neither in battle nor in diplomacy. I was occupied with myself.

Still, I don’t loath myself for that. I don’t believe … I could’ve changed what came to be.

* * *

**“A visitor for**  you, Your Highness,” announces Gen, one of the soldiers who found me. “Please come with me.”

I get up and put on the uniform he offers me, taking in its metal decorations with delight. It feels so good to wear them on these clean and pristine clothes. A livery of my home. But Gen looks surprised at my sight and I suppose it’s for the fact I didn’t add any more metal to it. While my ability recovered along with the rest of my body, I’ve grown used to walk without the weight of metal on me.

I pass him and go to the foyer where the visitor waits already. I feel a smile spread on my face for the first time in half a year because it’s her, of course. Elane comes for me only hours after I arrived, likely she jumped in a transport the moment she heard about me. Elane, my guiding light.

She approaches me while I’m too excited to move. Instead I watch her. With the sword and more weapons at her hip, she’s a warrior as seasoned as the ones who shelter me. It shouldn’t surprise me since she’s always been as much of a soldier as me, only in different aspects. Before, her roundness and curves underlined her feminine beauty, now they display the physical strength she always had. She’s majestic, and deserving the crown Tolly would’ve given her.

This image wanes the closer she comes. Emotions wash over her at the sight of me and her demeanour gets lost the moment she reaches out with her hand to touch me, as if to certify I’m real. But  _I am here_ , I mouth.

“I thought we could meet in the middle,” she says, and starts to cry. Finally, I move and embrace her, hold her tighter and tighter as sobs emerge from both of us. “You came back …!” she says. “You came …!”

“I did,” I whisper, but she doesn’t calm.

“Don’t do this again, Eve. I love you. Don’t leave me again, Eve, and let me believe you’re dead…!”

* * *

**No sunshine is**  as warm as the rays Elane lets play on my face. Although I’m healthy again, a part of me was still frozen and aching and only Elane could heal it. But even now, as I lean against her in the transport that brings us to Ridge House, I’m aware that this piece of me will always remain. I’ve been hurt and have lost too much to forgets these feelings.

“Ridge House with its town is the county I’m granted to govern,” Elane explains. “Your cousin Cristoph would’ve sent me back to my family if I hadn’t insisted to stay from the start.”

“Weren’t you tempted?” I ask.

Her brown eyes are full of dedication. “I was waiting for you, Eve. I couldn’t abandon you, nor your home.”

I kiss her cheek.

She squeezes my hand. “Although your mother … she left with House Viper. Not because she was disloyal, but … enough people guessed she was involved in Anabel Lerolan’s demise and without your family present, her position wasn’t strong.” She clears her throat. “Are you angry?”

I don’t reply.

“Well,” she continues, “Cristoph, your steward, thought himself next in line and in the best position to rule and took things into his hands.”

“I’m not surprised.” Elane seems wary. I look up to her, replacing my phlegmatic indifference with urgency. “Please take me to my family that  _is_  here,” I say.

She understands who I mean.

* * *

**In death, the**  Samos and most magnetrons finally shed their metals. Some may take a little piece of jewellery or medal with them, but most are buried like any person. Neither the coffins nor the tombstones are metallic either. Tolly’s name, like those of everyone else on the graveyard, is engraved in stone. It became a tradition since unlike stone, metals are less lasting, either due to rust or to our abilities. But stone is impervious to them and can’t be changed, as death can’t.

I kneel in front of the stone, on his tomb, to have the goodbye I wasn’t granted. “I want to see your smile again,” I whisper. “I want you to be part of our life.” I lean over the stone, my tears falling onto the soil. Elane comes down to hug me, becoming a buoy. I need  _her_ , after all. “I miss him so much,” I murmur.

“I know. So do I,” she answers. She stays here with me, for a long time. As long as I need.

“I’m the queen now,” I say.

“Yes.”

I take a breath. “I love this place, Elane. It’s my paradise. But I think it was cursed form the start.”

* * *

**Elane never leaves**  my side while I meet with my house I’m to lead and the officers of my kingdom. Cousin Cristoph treats me with due respect and doesn’t linger with preparing my coronation. But I notice how he assesses me and how I’ve changed, deducing whether he’ll have to curb his ambitions with me on the throne. I don’t offer him such certainty, not even when I listen to him or read his reports.

“We’ll hold your coronation at Ridge House to announce your ascension, but we’ll have to return to Pitarus, the capital, soon,” Elane sums up the next plans when we’re alone in my loft. She walks through the room while I recline on a couch. “The most important thing will be to consolidate the power we – you – do hold, before we can look after other regions.”

“You mean the mines and the techie towns?” I ask. Elane nods reluctantly. “Funny, I thought those are the base of our power.”

“They are.”

“But they’re in disarray, if not in open rebellion.”

Elane bites her lip. “Yes. But …”

“If we beat them down, all our alliances the Scarlet Guard’s Norta will be void,” I say. “Hmm. Likely, they instigated those uprisings.”

Elane throws up her hands. “Fine, what could I’ve done?” I flinch and lean back. “I could just barely persuade Cristoph to leave Ridge House in my care,” she goes on.

I haven’t meant to chastise her. If the Kingdom of the Rift frays and crumbles on its seams and edges, it’s my fault as well. My neglect.

I rise from the couch and arrange my new metal dress that’s supposed to show my power but also reveals how much weight I’ve lost. It drags me down and tires me, yet I have to go back to my old ways and look like the Queen of the Rift. I go to the window, contemplating the landscape beneath me. “We need those alliances,” I say. Elane sighs.

“If we work against the Guard’s aims, they’ll fight us,” I insist. “I saw it happen. In Harbor Bay, on the road, in the papers. Every province is on its own, and is taken care of, one after another.

“If we object, this heaven become the same hell as the rest of the country.”

Elane snorts. “What?” I ask.

She sighs. “Eve, for some people, it’s already hell.”

I spin my head. I nod. “That’s why ... the Queen of the Rift will make one decree. One contract with them, before I’ll abdicate.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “That can’t be the only way …”

“This is also about us, Elane. About me.” My hands splay on the windowpane. “I don’t think I’m able to make negotiations with them for years. They’ve murdered Tolly and Father. I can’t … can’t sit with them, or talk with them.”

Suddenly, Elane’s at my side, her hand on my bare shoulders. “You know how it happened?” she whispers.

I hesitate. I lean against her touch and turn my face back to the window. “Once, I saw Mare Barrow with a child she called her niece. I didn’t make the connection immediately, but now I understand. It’s  _her_  child.”

Even her faint reflection in the window shows Elane’s confusion. “Barrow’s?”

I shake my head. “No, love.  _Hers_. The Red General’s. The one who killed Tolly.”

She steps back in shock.

“You didn’t know.” I sigh and feel I feel the tears threatening to come. “Better keep it a secret. But you see, don’t you? Tolly didn’t just take a brother, or a lover. He killed the father of her child, and she couldn’t forgive that.

“Nor can I forgive her. But while I was … with them, I was first unaware, then chanceless to take revenge without losing my life as well. And I still can’t pay that price. I want to live. With you.”

She tries to hug me but I stop her. “What do you think Barrow would do if I made her niece a full orphan? I’d lose this tiny chance to be free, and for nothing that changes anything. We won’t get Tolly back, and only lose ourselves in more threads of obligations and grievances.” I close my eyes and let her embrace me. I sink into her skin, her smell, her warmth. “Do I give up too much, love?” I murmur.

Her lips caress my face, her hands my cold shoulders. “It’s okay,” she utters. “Eve, it’s okay. I’m with you.”

“Come away with me,” I say. Once the contract is signed, the whole Rift will hate me. My home is the only place I’ve ever loved and it’ll lose it to remain myself. But paradise comes at a price I’m not prepared to pay. “I can’t … I can’t bear this crown,” I say, with dreadful finality. “I’m done with living for others’ expectations and demands. I don’t belong to anyone else. But to you. And to myself.”

She cups my cheek in her palm and plays with a loose tress of my hair. I smile. I never allow my hair loose tresses and Elane’s the only one I tolerate to touch my hair. “I’m ready to elope with you, my love.” But there are tears in her eyes, too. I wipe them away, hers and mine.

“Good,” I whisper. “Once it’s over.”

 

Before we go down to one of our now numbered dinners, I take a letter of my desk. “Can you have this send to my mother?” I ask. “I want her to know I forgive her.”

* * *

**_A/N:_ ** _They also make love under a magnolia tree to say goodbye to the Rift and Ridge House. But I didn’t find the right place to include this in the text >___<_

_The song quotes are back and bring angst … “Wherever I May Roam” by Metallica is the theme here_

_I typed this whole thing during one night and now my hands hurt. How do writers stand to type this much every day?_

 


	30. Maven

**_A/N:_ ** _Thanks to all who made it to this point. You’re awesome for bearing with me, my silly ideas and my writing for a year. Love you^^_

Trigger warning: self harm

**Maven POV**

**I’m drowning in** dullness. I’d like to say fighting it is the hardest part but the more it overwhelms me, the more I fight myself instead. It’s the easiest occupation since I’ve been doing that for too long, likely my whole life. Scratching my skin? Done. Ripping my cubicles? Done. Chewing off my fingernails? Done. My newest focus is on the measly beard under my chin, certainly no fashionably full beard, but present enough to be a major nuisance if left untended. Which it is, so I tug at the hairs all the time, sometimes successfully tearing out a few. It can’t look pretty, of course, but I have no mirror no see myself. That’s the problem. Cal’s allowed me an electrical shaver, finally convinced it would’ve no razors to cut myself with, but a mirror is still off-limits. So he took the offer of the shaver back. Oh, great. Instead he shaves me himself on the days he visits me, by my request. It doesn’t make him come more regularly.

To be honest, I hate the way he’s taken it away from me, the possibility to maintain my appearance. It’d mean nothing for anyone to see me here but it’d mean something to me. Yet I receive only the most basic things, as long as they can’t hurt me. In Cal’s perception. What does he know of the ways I hurt myself? It’s ridiculous and delusional, but that’s how he is. He doesn’t want me to harm myself but the way locking me into a cell damages me is a just punishment?

Well, that’s one way of reasoning. I can understand it, in a certain regard. And don’t I deserve it? I don’t even have to live under silent stone as I had Mare do. I know how the stone pained and withered her away yet I either didn’t care or took rejoice in it. _It makes her weak, then she needs me_ , I thought when in truth, I couldn’t bear to look at her half the time.

Now I hide from the world behind a broken frame. The frame is myself, as it is only reasonable to cage me in more than one layer. Yet I hold on to all I have in my little world as it’s my only buoy. It’s why Cal isn’t afraid of my fire. The cell is fireproof, and I won’t destroy my bed, books, clothes or table. Mother had never let me transfer my anger on things, never allowed me to show. It happened still, on occasion, and I still remember her chastisements afterwards, for that and for every other failing.

* * *

**I cannot not** notice the irregularity of Cal’s visits. He likes to bring me breakfast, sometimes he stays for dinner – if I can call it such – in the evenings. Sometimes he doesn’t come for days and I fight the urge to talk to the attendants instead, aware it’d be no joy for them, certainly believing only lies and conspiracies leave my mouth or expecting my frustration to lash out against them. But deep down, I know pride keeps me from interacting with them, the humiliation of having no one to talk to but mere employees who revile me and have no other choice.

Then again, when they leave after bringing whatever I’ve needed and am granted to receive, while I’ve avoided looking at them, I feel ashamed for behaving that way. What was Thomas if not a “mere employee” and yet so much more?

I have too much time at hand, too much time to consider every little choice of mine. First Mother “spared” me such contemplations, then the duties of a king shoved them far away. Now, I suppose, it’s my punishment to spend time with myself. Until Cal arrives in my cell, forcing a smile and talking of all and nothing while setting up the board to play our game.

He remains all I have and that makes me afraid. I can’t deal with that. I never could, and I’ll only drag him into an abyss with me.

Our conversations, including his reports from the outer world, are so casual, you wouldn’t realize we were involved in them, as if lessening our current influence would also affect our former one. It’s so like him, and cute actually. Maybe he thinks it’s easier for me this way since I, in my prison, can’t change anything. Maybe he doesn’t grasp the concept of punishment by captivity after all, though. But it’s new to all of us. He hasn’t spoken a meaningful word to me since he saw me again, just waking from unconsciousness after Iris knocked him out. He was shocked I didn’t killed him, when I was broken down myself, clasped to tightly in my defeat to act. He was thankful for my mercy, believing he found his little brother again. Now it’s only a matter of time until he rues _his_ mercy bitterly.

* * *

**Today, he shifts** in his chair and hesitates to moves his knight until he finally decides on a bad tactic. He’s obvious to read as he frets over how to approach the news he intends to relay to me this time.

* * *

**I remember a** day in spring, when he appeared with his face frozen and hurt and guilt inscribed in his whole demeanour. No, resignation. Based on the feeble joy he’d displayed the days before, I made an educated guess. “Has Mare left you for good now?” I asked and immediately, I knew I was right. Yet I felt no satisfaction, nor residues of envy. Only a hole in my chest, a surge of the same void threatening to swallow me in every moment I can’t avoid to think of it.

“You should’ve treated her better, Cal,” I said.

He scoffed, still wallowing in his own pain. “Strange to hear that from you.”

“Strange it takes me to say that,” I replied.

He lowered his head and turned away yet didn’t leave as I thought he would. I regretted my former words, expecting him to finally show his anger, his hate, towards me. I knew he had to restrain and hide it to do all this for me. To just interact with me. Instead, he laughed out of a sudden. “Believe me Maven, I’ve heard enough of that. Still, I should’ve listened. Much earlier.”

And the following weeks, I could watch him work through this final breakup while he never mentioned Mare again. The frequency of his visits decreased, likely because he preferred a different kind of occupation in Harbor Bay than me, who’s just another reminder of pain.

* * *

**“Just say what** bothers you,” I urge him in the playful manner I’ve perfected. I can’t stop myself from guessing although with my scarce supply of news, it’s a hopeless endeavour. But it’s the thing Mother was most insistent I learned, how to anticipate both people and politics.

He stares at me and I don’t miss the extra dose of pity in his eyes. Then he clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. “The Lakelander Queen has allied with the Scarlet Guard,” he says. “Thanks to Mare and your lovely wife.”

I’m glad I didn’t take a sip from my tea as I would’ve certainly choked on it. Instead I tighten my hold on the cup while my other hand claws into the flesh on my leg. But my fingernails are too short to cause distracting, relieving pain. “So,” I say. “You’ve heard of her?”

He nods. Apparently he notices my irritation. But he doesn’t try to read me as intently as I observe him, searching for any clues. He seems confused, uncomfortable and compassionate, yet not nearly as overwhelmed as he’d be if he _knew_. I take a breath of relief, only to wonder why he should even show a strong reaction if he knew all this time.

“See, Iris Cygnet contacted me and asked about you and I confirmed your … location,” he says. “And then she sent me this.” He produces a stack of papers and hands it to me.

“Those are forms for a divorce,” he explains. But I’ve figured already. “Well, I’ll leave it here for you to read,” he adds. “I think you’re versed in such legal matters.” He smiles weakly, glad I don’t freak out over the loss of my wife, glad not to be involved in the relationship of Iris and me. He quickly evades my gaze and focuses back on the board as if the forms had no meaning at all.

“No.”

He jerks up, surprised by my firm tone. I pass the papers back to him. “I won’t sign this. If Iris wants something from me, she shall come in person.”

“Maven … “

“I admit this won’t be pleasant for either of us but I insist.”

He clears his throat once more. “I don’t know. There’s this travel planned for us in two weeks – “

“You’re telling me this now?!” I exlaim. “What does _this travel_ mean, Cal?” A travel, _planned for me_ , can only mean my location is known and has to be changed. A change of location means danger. Death. And Iris? Likely wanting a divorce to cleave herself free of me for good, before she’s remembered as the widow of a murderous usurper and not as the Queen of Peace –

“Hey.” Cal bends forward and grabs my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the travel earlier but we have to go. Don’t worry too much, please.” He seems so concerned, so full of … affection. And I deserve nothing of that.

I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. “Please arrange her visit,” I say quietly, “I need that, Cal. If she bothers to come, I’ll know that …” I swallow and he’s about to speak again. But I continue. “So I know I won’t die the next day.” I smile cynically, as I’ve trained.

He doesn’t return the smile, stays earnest as always. “You’re the only one who still calls me ‘Cal’,” he says.

* * *

**I want to** meet Iris again. Iris betrayed me. Iris understands me. Iris doesn’t care one bit about me. Iris is just like Cal.

I was envious of her from the moment we exchanged our first words and I didn’t even know why. That conclusion came later, but it’s obvious nonetheless. She’s perfect, how a princess should be. Strong, loved by her family and her country, friendly, devoted, capable, beautiful. I liked spending time with her, even though she reminded me of Cal. Rather I imagined what could’ve been if Mother never ... but no. There was never a pure moment in my life and the Maven that interacted with Iris was just as fake. She was, too. The closer we came, the more I mistrusted her, and wasn’t I right? The day of the attack on Archeon arrived, and she was ready to watch the sentinel she loves kill me.

It could never have worked. The only one who loved me for myself was Thomas and I can’t say I ever really confided in him, as I was busy mending the broken piece of my life before I could present them to him. Cal only cares about his duty to and his image of a brother I’ll never be. Mare I used until I couldn’t decide between dragging her with me like a doll and throwing her away like a rag. I’m not made for love, but to be its antithesis. Mother should be proud of that success.

* * *

**Cal said it’s** two weeks until we have to move and I count every hour of them that brings me closer to my death. Distractions stop to help and it doesn’t take long until my bad habits consume all my time, starting with bleeding fingers and grey scratches on my skin. Cal sees the need to remove more of my things when he thinks I’m not looking but I notice anyway, as patrolling my room is my one other hobby.

It lasts for nine days and 15 hours but at least I made them feel endlessly. _What a success_ , I congratulate myself _, I truly make the best of my last days by agonizing_. But then it comes, the sound of the unlocking door at an unusual time. I get up, spin around and straighten my posture, once more cursing inwardly at my undignified appearance. How can you seem majestic in fatigues? I wish my executioner will grant me an appropriate outfit to die in, knowing it’s too much to hope for. I smirk, not too extreme in case Cal is with them, but only one person enters. Of course, she of all people doesn’t need back up to face me.

“Dear Iris,” I greet her.

“Good morning, Maven,” she replies. “You’ve asked for me?”

“I’m so glad – honoured – that you’re heeding my request. May I congratulate?”

She raises her eyebrows.

“On your victory, Iris,” I clarify. But she remains a little tenser than before. She moves to the table and looks at me, so I can invite her to sit.

“Can we stop this roleplaying now?” she asks after we’ve taken out seats. “Do you agree to the divorce or not?”

“Do you have an idea how relieved I am you actually came?” I say, again, much more serious.

“Are you?”

“Yes. So you can tell me the truth.” She looks flustered but not surprised. “Iris, that you make efforts to get this done shows me that I can hope my life will last longer than a week.”

“I suppose so.”

“You don’t know more?” I inquire.

She shakes her head. “That depends – “

“Ah.” I stretch my arms. “However, if you want me to sign, I wish for something in return.”

“What is it?”

“The truth, as I said.”

She bites her lip. “Why do you need to know?”

“Don’t I need to know because it won’t matter since I die in a month, a week?” I counter. “How about your friend Sentinel Griffey, does she still serve you?”

She cackles. “Oh, she does, in a way. What a good sense for transitions you have, Maven.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did what I had to. That was the only option open to me, one according to my honour.”

I incline my head, waiting.

“He will never wear a crown and get a mark on his back in return, like we do. Do you understand me?”

I nod, the pen in my hand resting over the paper. _He_. She stares at me, expectantly, but I hesitate.

“His name is Arthur,” she concedes.

I swallow. It’s clear she won’t give more away, no matter how long I wait. I sign. “So we are divorced people now?” I smile.

She shakes her head ever so slightly. “As if. But our royal days are over, and our words no longer become law. No, this needs an official’s stamp to become legal.”

“How complicated.”

“How reasonable.” She takes the forms and we rise. “Farewell, Maven,” she says, “make the best of it.”

* * *

**I’ve sunk onto** my bed, my face buried in my hands, shutting my eyes from the light. I don’t know what to make if this. I need to think. I knew, didn’t I? But I accepted the uncertainty eagerly as I’ve never been able to grasp the meaning of a child. Iris does, of course, but still I’m clueless and likely, no one will ever care if I stay that way, besides myself –

Steps, loudly. I lift my head, wipe my face, search for the right mask to wear –

And freeze.

“Are you afraid to look at me?” Mare says, her voice full of impatience, disgust, and stress. She looks like a queen, as much as Iris.

I swallow, clear my throat, stretch my fingers, just to let her wait while I gather myself. Has she heard Iris and me? Is she the reason Iris was so hesitant with information? I don’t want her to know, too. Arthur’s not hers to worry about, even if he might not be for me either.

I meet her eyes and smirk. “I don’t have time for you.”

The corners of her mouth twitch, her arms crossed over her chest in self-confidence. “So? Then I won’t waste my time with you again.” Yet she doesn’t just leave. She came here on her own accords, although she might even not know what she wants with me.

“Is this a congregation of my former betrotheds?” I wonder aloud. “Is Evangeline here too?” I look around with affectation.

“No. She’s gained the uncanny ability to appear and disappear at will, like her girlfriend.” She grins weakly. “Last thing I heard, she melted down her collection of crowns and abdicated as Queen of the Rift. So did Iris. And Tiberias.”

I raise an eyebrow at the name. She doesn’t react. “Oh Mare” I say, “you’re such a welcome source of small talk already. You always make good company.”

She takes a step forward in anger. “Yes,” she hisses. “It was unfortunate you were the best entertainment I had while I was in your cage, too.”

I stop smiling. My eyes stay on her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”

She scoffs. “You expect that means anything to me?”

“No. But I thought I should say that.”

It makes her cackle. “You ‘thought’, like you don’t know? Oh Maven. Still no part of you is real, is it?”

I flinch, look away. She turns aside. “There’s a trial to come,” she says eventually. “A series of trials.”

“Naturally. A trial just for me would be pointless.”

Her head spins to me in annoyance. “Stop lying, Maven. Or is that too much to ask?”

I chuckle and sigh. “Will you leave now?” I want her to leave. She isn’t good for me, she’s dangerous. She wakes things in my heart that better stay buried and will only hurt both of us, once risen. Beautiful and cruel things, both too extreme for me to maintain my inkling of sanity.

But she only comes closer, reaching out with her hand, setting it on my head and pushing me backwards so I fall on my elbows.

“You don’t have power over me,” she mumbles, getting louder with every word. “You never really had, it was all given to you, no matter none of it was fair.” Her voice is like distant thunder. “That’s why I came here, to tell you that.”

Determination burns in her eyes and in a way, it belies her words. This visit has cost her, and continues to do, maybe for the rest of her life. She had time to prepare for this day, must’ve known long enough about me. Yet she needed every moment of this preparation. Scars don’t vanish from your soul, I know that very well.

Her palm on my brow heats and sizzles, sparks fly by. “Nobody stopped me from entering,” she says. “Despite the planned-for trials. So, do you think anyone cares about what happens to you?”

_Cal does_ , I think. But I remember what he told me, how Mare called him Tiberias. I won’t use him to save myself. I can’t need to. I put my palm on her thigh and summon the fire within me, a flame that went cold for so long that she doesn’t notice immediately, while her electricity continues to crackle over my skin.

She jumps back. “How dare you!” she screams. Her hand goes to her chest, involuntarily, to the place I burned before. Her sight scares me, shames me more than her threat of murder. Nothing is left of the innocence she had when I saw her for the first time. I took it from her. And Mother. Even Cal. And the whole world we live in.

Breathing heavily, she calms herself, staying ready for another charge. I let her. Look down. I don’t move, don’t call an alert, or try for another fire. “If you want to kill me,” I say, “go ahead. But don’t expect me not to defend myself.”

When I look up, her demeanour has relaxed. Although she’s still a warrior. “So you want to live?” she states.

I shrug. “I don’t ask for pity or mercy, but no matter how miserable this is, it is a life.”

At first, I don’t think she deigns to answer. Maybe she’ll come another time, maybe she’ll execute me herself once the trial produced a sentence. Until then, I’ll have something to fear for.

She stops on the threshold. “Once I thought I was born to destroy you,” she says. “But that was wrong to assume. My life is so much more than that. And while you wait out your miserable fate, Maven Calore, you better remember one thing in particular: You lost.

“And we have won.”

* * *

**Fin**

 


End file.
